Skyrim: Forged by Fire
by LoveRedbird
Summary: Sequel to Skyrim: Bonds of Blood. So, read that first :P
1. Chapter 1: First Month

**Hullo, everybody ! I know a lot of you must be really pissed about that ending. But, trust me. You have for thirty-two chapter. This series is the continuation of Bonds of Blood, but with an added twist. In the light of Mother's Day, the first nine (hint hint) chapters are coming out today. Rontu was always more than Marrick, something she started to lose sight of towards the end. But now, she's something more than that, whether she wants to be or not: a mother. Please, don't give up on her journey, and I hope you enjoy ! -LR**

_Middas, the 28th of Morning Star, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

I'm in Windhelm, baby, staying with some old friends. They didn't recognize me at first, but I'm sure it was more because of your presence than of my face. Once, they knew me as a warrior called Na'el. Funny name, I know. Now I look as I once did, so that when I look on your face, you'll be looking on mine. Right now, we are four weeks along, you and me, and your uncles are almost as excited to meet you as I am. Even though they are Nords, we celebrated Ovank'a on the twelfth, which is a holy day for Redguards making wishes to Stenndar for the new year. On the sixteenth, we and Redguards all over Mundas celebrated the Day of Lights together. Your uncles, though not by blood, are fierce warriors and loving people. They are called Ralof, Kieran, Bjorn, Nolan and also Wendell. Funny names, I know. I'm writing so that when you arrive, you can read these and will know your life before breath. You will know what the world was like before you. I can tell you now, Segen, it's much less interesting, and a little more lonely. Right now, you are about the size of a small fruit. I think you'll maybe have an apple-shaped head. When I was a small child, they teased me, and called me applehead. In any case, I know that as long as we can be together, I am proud and happy to be one.

All my love,

_Mana_


	2. Chapter 2: Second Month

_Middas, the 25th of Sun's Dawn, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

We arrive to Whiterun in about an hour! I truly hate wagons, especially now that I'm quick with you. But now, we are about eight weeks along, so I can't ride my warhorse, Queen Alfsigr. Still, every bump we hit makes me feel like you will drop off me like some fruit. I suppose it can't be helped. You are an applehead after all. I should probably mention that we are meeting someone very important in the White City: your blood uncle, Jarsha! He doesn't know you exist yet, baby, and surprise him we will. He may be upset at first, but I know he will love you near as much as me. I was too nervous to go to Riften to see him; I fear someone who has as much claim to you as me will search there for me, and find us. A few days ago, Tamriel celebrated Heart's Day, and my twenty-third birthday a few days more. For both, I was alone. . . well, alone, if not for you. And here, is the main road, now. It's funny, my love, approaching the city now that I am not on the warpath, coming to sack it. I did once, you know. Your uncles have probably filled your head with it all by now. I can see the peak of Dragonsreach now, Segen. If I were an artist, I'd paint it. But I'm not. It makes no matter; the most perfect moment is still a few months away!

All my love,

_Mana_


	3. Chapter 3: Third Month

_Loredas, the 26th of First Seed, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

In Dawnstar now, drinking with both your blood uncles, Jarsha and Adjin. Do not worry, it isn't wine, my love; just honeyed milk to make us strong. They have set up a very happy party for the Festival of Blades, and we are celebrating with Uncle Adjin's Family. At first, I was nervous about arriving here too- the person who may love you as much as I knew Adjin very well. Nothing has happened, though. Segen, it completely slipped my mind, but you will be born into an age of dragons . . . oh, but that leads up to so many other things: the Civil War, the Thalmor, the White-Gold Concordat. I feel it necessary to tell you enough about the world, but not so much that my cares become yours. When it comes to you, I want to be very selfish. My mother once said that a child is the one thing in all the world that belongs completely to a woman. But I know this isn't so. You belong to someone else, too. Now is not the time for these thoughts, though; my brothers are here, and they are having a party for us. I'm big-bellied with you, Segen, but tonight, we will dance. We are twelve weeks in, but we will dance.

All my love,

_Mana_


	4. Chapter 4: Fourth Month

_Fredas, the 17th of Rain's Hand, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

Welcome to Ivarstead, my love! This pretty town is where your father's legacy began. They say he's among the greatest of all Skyrim's heroes. . . maybe as great as Ysgramor or Talos, but never as great as me. He's come into my thoughts a lot recently, your father. I realize now that I can't be selfish, for your sake. My brother, your Uncle Adjin, said as much today. We were walking along the little bridge to the Seven Thousand Steps (so I could say I at least made it to the first of them with you in my belly at sixteen weeks) and we were talking of him. I pretended you were kicking so that he would stop preaching at me about your father and how hard his life was and how broken he probably is. How bad I should feel for leaving. Adjin says I'm heartless, but he's wrong: I'm heartsick. I didn't just lose your Baba, Segen, your Baba lost you, and that was wrong of me. In five days, it will be Jester's Day, a holiday for tricks and pranks. I can't help but feel I played the biggest trick of all on myself. Can you ever forgive me, Segen?

All my love,

_Mana_


	5. Chapter 5: Fifth Month

_Turdas, the 5th of Second Seed, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

I thought you'd like to be in Markarth, even though I hate it to pieces. I wonder if the guard here would arrest a twenty weeks pregnant woman? Hopefully not. I came here this month because the tent I'm in now is part of a caravan that comes to Markarth in this season only, and I didn't want to miss it. This is also the place that I learned of your father's impact on my life from a fortune teller called Ri'saad. He's fixing tea for us now. He warned me that I would both love and be loved by a shadow, king and dragon, but those words held a double meaning. I was loved by a thief, a would-be king, and a man with the soul of a dragon, your father. I loved only him. He was a shadow when I first met him, kingly in his bloodline and, once again, a dragon in his soul. And, I love only him. The fortune came true, and I am all the better for it, regretting nothing. How can I, when after everything, I still have you?

All my love,

_Mana_


	6. Chapter 6: Sixth Month

_Loredas, the 6th of Midyear, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

This city is called Riften. For my first months in Skyrim, I called it home. Years ago, your father called it home as well. Right now, I stand on the bridge that intersects everything, just above the main canal. From where I stand, I can see the door of the Ratway, which leads to the Thieves Guild I was part of. You should know, there are many people who would love and care for you and I, if we stayed here, but this isn't where I want you to be born. The place I had in mind is a bit colder, but at the same time, it's warmer. I want you to know, Segen, that I was not the best of people, and this place is only one of the many reasons why. When I think on it, most of the other reasons have to do with your father. Presently. I am trying to fool myself into thinking I only came here to see my old friends, Cynric and Brynjolf and Karliah, but that's not true. I know better. I know I was hoping your Baba would still be here. I don't know what he would think, my love, seeing me twenty-four weeks along with you. Happy. Angry. Both. I don't know, Segen, I don't know. I just really wanted to see him, and I don't know why, I just wanted him to be here. But, it doesn't matter. He isn't.

All my love,

_Mana_


	7. Chapter 7: Seventh Month

_Middas, the 1st of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

I'm sitting in on a Destruction class at the College of Winterhold. Jarsha is here with me, trying to get a legitimate job in something he loves, not just thievery. I am proud of him. College seems to have paid off. Maybe, if I sit here long enough, watching these mages blast each other, we will both be smarter for it. Segen, I feel so helpless and stupid, not for myself, but for you, twenty-eight weeks old, in my womb. Have I doomed you for life? What will other people say, when they see a young mother and her child, still toting around an Amulet of Mara like a broken dream? What will they say to their children? What will their children say about you? Segen. If nothing else, please know from these letters that I never stopped loving your father, and that I never will. You are a child born out of true love and that is all that matters. Damn the fool who tells you otherwise. The twenty-ninth is Fiery Night for the children of the Alik'r Desert. When you are old enough, we can perhaps travel to my homeland and celebrate the festival there. No one will think or say anything when we are both well and strong.

All my love,

_Mana_


	8. Chapter 8: Eighth Month

_Loredas, the 1st of Last Seed, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

This place is called Solitude. It's where your father was born, to a soldier - a great captain of men- and a tavern girl. The woman was called Ileana, and the soldier became an old High King, Torygg. It is for this reason that I mean to call you Azrael. In my language, it means "Stray Prince". Just like your father's surname. What can I tell you about this world and him? He has sacrificed much and more to save it. I hear tell that he is in Riften, with the Blades. I can't help but wonder if he thinks of me. Does that make your mother silly? Probably. Solitude is beautiful, yes, but beauty isn't everything. Trust me, I know. As much as he hates this place, I can feel him everywhere. Your father had the sea in his blood, and the ocean air is making me lonely. I always did hate the sea. In any case, the eleventh of this month is Koomu Alezer'i, which means "We Acknowledge". On this day, Redguards give praise to the gods for our bounty and our fortune. I intend to thank them for you. Thirty-two weeks. We won't be long now, Segen.

All my love,

_Mana_


	9. Chapter 9: Last Month

_Turdas, the 3rd of Hearth Fire, Year 202 of the Fourth Era_

_Dear Segen_,

Now, we are in Morthal. My love, you are too fat inside for me to move anyplace. You kept me awake most of the night. Even writing this is hard, for you are coming soon. This is what Idgrod the Younger tells me. She was once the love of your father, Marrick's, life. Now, I am glad to call her friend, even though she fears you on account of your birthday being Tales and Tallows. Many believe that the dead walk tonight. I do not fear for you, though, because we are both "Segen", and heroes do not fear the dead. Still, I may have chosen wrong for your second name, my love. "Azrael" can also be read as "Chaos", and that's what you are. Don't get me wrong, it's strangely comforting. Sometimes, when it's just you and me, I feel for your kick, or your strong, little heartbeat. It's times like that I truly know peace. You will be born here, my precious one, and I will build our steading when I am strong, and we will live a good and happy life. I meant what I said before: I haven't been a good person, at all. But, I swear to you now, on everything I am, hours before I see your face for the first time, that I will be a good mother. I will teach you to fish and to swim and to read. I will teach you to hunt and to fight and to ride. I will teach you justice, compassion, kindness and love. And, you will teach me, too, Segen. You will teach me happiness.

All my love,

_Mana_


	10. Chapter 10: Fate

**Hullo, everybody! I've had AP tests for the past few weeks, so in honor of today being the last one, I'm posting this chapter! :D This one will knock you all for a loop, I'm sure. If you have the downloadable content for Skyrim, you'll understand, and if you don't please research it so you can understand! The story progresses, just as I promised, so I look forward to the reviews, and I hope you enjoy! -LR**

The dogs next door are howling again.

I don't really mind, in fact, I've got half a mind to join them. People aren't free like animals are, to just do as they please. They're not more civilized, either. They're only more pent-up. More aggressive. Dogs, wolves, they can howl at the moons like the heart and soul of a lost lover, and it's fine because it's their nature. Let some human do the same, and men would only judge.

That fresh in my mind, I open my eyes.

I am tired.

Tired of people. Everything they touch eventually turns to ash. This much, I know. The way my parents died, the way Adjin abandoned me, the way the great love of my life just. . .

I press my lips into a thin line, staring up at the ceiling. I'm tired of people, really I am. This whole world is so much better off without them. But, everyday is one I need to get through. Because, when He arrives in my dreams, to torment me, to mock me, I have to be there to witness him, and remind myself exactly why I am still here.

Reluctantly, I rise from the bed of the rented room in the Bannered Mare, and stumble to the wash bin. A polished silver plate hangs over it. Dip the cloth. Ring it out. Press it to my face. Pull it away.

Look at the face, the person life has given me.

My eyes drift lower and I press my lips together again.

Look at the poison heart I had sewn over my own.

_Marrick!_

I shut my eyes tight against her voice.

_Marrick, I love you._

"Shut up," I order, pressing the palms of my hands against my eyes, harder and harder until I see stars. For once, my Princess, she listens to me. I take a deep breath and face the man I've become.

Black hair, blacker than sin. Full black beard to go with it; the fuck did that come from? The tail I've kept since I was eight ears old is absolutely gone, lost in a sea of my new wild mane. My eyes just as dark, and sunken, with heavy purple circles beneath them. Pale skin, like the skin of a corpse, a straight nose, like an arrow. And then, my mouth, my _fucking_ mouth.

I try to smile, try to find my old arrogance. But, it's all dried up. She stole it from me. She stole me from myself, and I don't know what to do anymore. It's like I don't exist. I look like shit and nursing on Alto wine and tavern girl tits hasn't been any help. Not when none of them were-

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror. "Don't you dare," I snarl, "Don't you fucking dare." My own face stares back at me helplessly. "No," I snap, "I had to, I couldn't- we didn't-" I slam my fists against the counter. "FUCK!"

Now, in addition to having the worst of all my history of hangovers, both the women in my bed are stirring. I curse myself under my breath.

"Keller?" mutters the dark-haired one, what was her name. . . ? "Keller, why are you up? Come back to bed."

I curse some more.

In Whiterun Hold, I am Keller. Eastmarch, it's Firenze, in the Pale, it's Dane, in Falkreath, I am Pate. No matter where or who I am, however, I am always wanted, falling in and out of women's beds like-

_And become part of the legion of all the faceless women you've had?_ She smiled _No, thank you._

"You did it again," I hiss at my reflection.

"Do it again?" babbles the girl, rousing the other one. "Wake up; he says we're doing it again."

"Doing it again?" the other girl pipes hopefully.

"Not you," I say, aggravated.

"Then, me?"

"No, me. I'm talking to myself."

"Oh, I do that, too."

"Me three."

I groan. With the weight of my headache and my memories, I just can't stomach their bullshit, too. Then, there's a tentative knock at the door, which still ends up sounding like a hammer smashing into my face.

"Fuck me," I grunt. "Aye, I'm coming, I'm coming."

The girls find this hilarious.

I'm too fucking wasted to flip them off, and too wasted to talk myself out of opening that door, behind which stands my landlady, Hulda, with a light that in my drunken state, feels like a handheld sun.

"I can help you?" I slur, "Can I help you?" I'm rocking back and forth, my balance gone, and squinting, trying to use my hand like a visor. It's not working.

"It's the sixteenth," she says. "The sixteenth of Sun's Dawn. I need your rent money, Keller."

"And you're collecting it now? At five in the morning?"

"Ten, actually!" lilts one of the girls.

I turn around, squinting into the dark.

"Ten?" I snap, incredulous. "It's ten o'clock, and you didn't think to wake me up?"

"Are we your maids?" This from the brunette, rolling onto her stomach and arching her back to stretch it. "Is that why we're here, to tell you the time?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or, is it something else? 'Cause sometimes, I feel like I'm here for you to call me some other woman's name, while you fuck me into Oblivion."

My eyes narrow; _Had I, really?_

I shake myself out of it, and glower at her.

"Just be glad you're getting fucked into Oblivion," I suggest coyly, and turn back to Hulda, to find her staring at the floor, her face bright red. She has a hand shielding half her face, by her nose, like she's blocking out some horrible smell. And, maybe she is. I try to take a subtle whiff of myself. Not bad. Not bad at all. Just kind of stale.

So, stale me and cum.

That's how I smell.

I look back; her hand is still in the same place.

"Do I smell?" I ask. Fuck subtlety.

"What?" She's appalled. "N-no, I-"

"It's not hard, just a yes or no question."

"I-" she stammers. "No, just. . . just. . ."

I frown, "Just what?"

"You. . . you're _naked._"

Blinking drunkenly at this information, I let it sink in and glance down. Hey, she's right. There's my cock, right there between my legs.

"Well, what d'you know."

Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to be an asshole when I said it.

"If you could just. . ."

"What? You never seen a cock before?"

"You poor, deprived woman!" gasps one of the girls.

Her friend will not believe it.

"She must have," she says defiantly. "She _must_ have."

"Of course I've-"

"- seen a cock?" I smirk._ Now_ I'm being an ass. "You got a husband? Fiancee? Lover?" She gives no reply. She tries to shy away, but I catch her wrist in one hand, and her chin in the other. "Lover, then?" Hulda goes red and my smirk becomes a grin. "Want me to teach you something you could do for him?"

And that was the switch.

Suddenly, my landlady seems to remember who she is, who I am, what I'm doing, what she's letting me do, and the financial situation she was trying to amend.

"I want you _out_ of here!" she shrieks. I start to mumble, saying that I was only joking around, but that only makes it worse. "You sit in this room and let it stink while you rot inside it! My girls spend more time in here than they do serving, you seem incapable of turning a profit and even when you're not having sex with some poor woman, you wake up in the middle of the night screaming loud enough to make one think you are." At that, I swallow; I know the night terrors are getting bad, just not _that_ bad. "I am _finished_!" Hulda huffs. "Absolutely_ finished_! Keller, I want you and your things _out!_"

"Alright, alright," I laugh, in spite of everything, snagging a sheet from the wardrobe by the door and wrapping it around my waist. "Just calm down, why don't you?"

"Calm do-"

"I have the rent money; it's just inside. I'm going to go put on some clothes, get the money, come back out, and give it to you. I won't have anybody up here. I will try to keep my noise level down, and you won't smell anything coming from this apartment, ever again."

Hulda's angry look turns sympathetic, which is about the last thing I can take from anyone, at this point:

Pity.

"Keller," she sighs, "You said that last month. And the month before that. And the month before that." I wet my lips. "To be honest, money isn't really the problem; you pay rent when you remember to. It's your lifestyle."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means? You spend your nights drinking yourself into a stupor, and smoking sweetleaf even though you've claimed to hate it. Your hours are unpredictable; sometimes you're in the pub before it's even opened, and you. . ." Hulda lowered her voice, ". . .you've been using moon sugar, and drinking skooma-"

"It's dreamwine, to help with the nightmares."

"It's skooma, and you know it! I've seen the Khajiit who deals to you!"

"Hulda-"

"No, Keller! No! It's been one thing after the other with you! You disturb the other patrons and guests, you leave messes in your wake, you get into senseless brawls-" She shakes her head. "This is done. I'm evicting you, Keller."

"_Evicting me_?" I repeat, disbelievingly. "Are you serious?"

"For once in my business with you, yes."

"If this is about money-"

"It isn't; I thought I made that clear." I sigh, leaning against the doorjamb for support. "You and your things out. _Today._"

Me and my mouth, I tell you.

I cross my arms, a sardonic grin gracing my lips.

"And, what if I say. . . no?"

* * *

Believe it or not, this isn't the first time I've been dumped on my ass by an inn-keeper's husband.

Prolly not the last.

I'm sitting the mud, struggling to get to my feet as I keep slipping in it, blinded by the sunlight. Passersby watch and laugh, and I keep swearing at them. I'm only wearing underclothes and my black cape; I look like a fucking jester, only a jester has more dignity. After a while, I give up and just sit down in the mud beside some nameless beggar, laying my back against the wall of the inn, shutting my eyes against the light.

Suddenly, I don't need to; someone's standing in it's way, shading me.

"Marrick."

Before I can talk myself out of doing it, I open my eyes. After five long years, that voice is so sweet to my ears that I can't bear not seeing the one it belongs to.

Ironically, just as it isn't my first time being dumped out by a innkeeper's man, it's also not the first time Adjin's seen me in such a state.

I squint up at him.

"Was wondering when you'd show."

Adjin doesn't smile like he's supposed to, which only makes this harder. Grimness never suited the man, it's one of the reasons he's the only person on Mundos I can stand. I study his tall frame appreciatively; Adjin's dress is always immaculate.

His mustachio and goatee are just as ringed and glamorous as ever. He's wearing fine boiled black leather, with steel mail beneath it. A jeweled, scarlet Alik'r hood crowns his head, its veil hanging off the side, to the left of his face. His scimitar and Elven dagger sat in their scabbards at his hip, along with the pouches hanging from his embroidered belt. A scarlet cloak rippled like water as it hung from his broad shoulders.

"Oh, Marrick," he says quietly, and instantly reduces me to guilt and shame. But, all that washes away again when I remember that I'm shit-faced.

"What?" I ask challengingly. "You want a piece of me, too?"

"I'm not sure," he replies, his lips quirking. "Do you have any left?"

I really want to laugh at that, but I feel like he's been seeking me out for this. I haven't seen him in years. Not since I said a whole bunch of shit I didn't even mean to a woman I'm still mad for.

His sister.

I squint up at him again in suspicion.

He must want to beat the piss out of me.

"You must want to beat the piss out of me."

He pauses for a moment. That's what I like about Adji- he (unlike myself) actually thinks about what he's going to say before he goes and says it.

"The shame you try so desperately to hide is vengeance enough for what's happened," he says carefully. "I don't need to 'beat the piss out of you'."

I snort sardonically, "I call bullshit."

My FUCKING mouth, I tell you!

But, Adjin only sighs, making me instantly sorry for it. The first person to ever give me a chance, the most powerful and wisest man I've ever known, and I here I sit, ungrateful and baiting him.

He stoops down beside me, uncaring of the mud.

"You know I could never bring myself to hate you."

It isn't a question; it's a statement. And, it's absolutely true. He can't hate me, just as I can't hate him. We're stuck to each other, in that way.

"Yes," I say quietly, "I know."

"I'd like to ask you a question, Marrick."

"_Then_ will you beat the piss out of me?"

"Ask me nice, and maybe, just maybe I will."

I can't help but smile this time. He knows how to get me.

"Fire away."

"Why did you leave that day, five years ago? Why did you say what you said?"

He says it so smooth and quick that I barely have time to catch my breath before it hitches. Immediately, I turn hostile again, unable to stop myself.

"Because I was tired of your sister," I smirk, "and, I really needed to cut her off." Adjin's face is stoic, like a rock wall, making me feel sorry and guilty and shameful again. Just a look from this man, and I'm reduced to a little fucking boy. "I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely.

He nods to himself and wets his lips before speaking.

"Do you know what makes a good liar, Marrick?"

I flash him a glare. Didn't I just fucking apologize?

"No," I say, raising my chin. "But, I know what makes a great one."

Adjin sighs patiently. "What makes a great liar?"

"Not getting caught."

He shakes his head, a grim smile on his lips.

"Anyone who can lie well, is a good liar," he says. "But, a great liar is one capable of lying to himself." I stick my tongue in my cheek, and he glances at me. "You aren't that great a liar, Marrick."

"Fuck you."

"Oh?" he says, raising his brows. "And, what would the tavern girls do?" I sigh as he rises to his feet, dusting off his clothes. "I'm leaving at dawn tomorrow, Marrick," he says. "With or without you."

"Didn't you have business here?"

He cast his gaze on me again, their brown depths turning warm and full of care.

"I have business anywhere you are."

I swallow hard.

"What have you come for? I'm washed up and strung out. I have nothing to do, and nowhere to go."

"You have your destiny," he dissents, his eyes twinkling madly. "You have everyday on this earth, Marrick." He raises his arms, gesturing grandly all around us. "Do you see them?" he asked. "Do you see how they mock you? How they spit on you? They have no idea who you are!"

"And they _shouldn't_!"

"Why for?" he queries, cocking his head. "For your sake? You're not here for your sake; you're here for theirs, Marrick. It's been five years! The dragons are out of control; they fly where they please and ravage the countryside. Suspicion and crime are rampant in every city, the civil war has made everyone coarse and thickens tension between brothers, and worst yet," he scoffs, "they think the Dragonborn a fable, dying or dead. And, five years' absence gives them cause." I wet my lips, staring hard at the ground. "Well, Marrick?" he asks gently. "Is he?"

I could become hostile again, snap something horrible at him, to make him shut up. But, his words trigger something in me, that makes me tell the truth.

"He doesn't want to be," I whisper hoarsely. "He _doesn't,_ but he- I don't - I'm not-"

"You're not what?"

"I'm not strong enough!" I shout. "I can't protect this world, not from Alduin. Not from itself. Not from me." _Not from Him._ "The same way I can't protect her. Not from Alduin. Not from Skyrim." I shake my head vigorously, "but, I could get her away from me."

To save her from Him.

"She never did tell you, did she?" Adjin asks, studying me.

I break from my thoughts, "Tell me what?"

"What Segen means." My heart stings, and I can't manage a vocal response, so I just shake my head. "Why don't you go and find out?" He touches my shoulder with a soft smile. "Make the world safe for her again."

I don't know what to say. And, what's more, I know that if I open this mouth of mine, I'll start crying like a bitch, which I refuse to do in front of Adjin. So, choking back the tears, I simply shrug.

"I'll think about it," I reply quietly.

* * *

I take myself and my things down the street, to the Drunken Huntsman; the only other inn in Whiterun.

My Princess, she followed me, lingering at every post, in every window, in my every thought.

It's only when I'm asleep, though, that she comes to me.

"_Marrick._ . ." I shut my eyes against that sweet, deep voice. "_Marrick._"

That second time gets the best of me, and I open my eyes. There she is, wreathed in light, with that pretty boy face she wears so well. Her pale, pearl like eyes, laughing at me, the cuts on each cheek and her nose ring lifting with her smile. Her long red-brown hair, thick and curly, like thunderclouds. Skin like golden mead, her form thick where it matters.

There she is, wreathed in light.

My Princess.

"You look like shit," she laughs, her fingers tracing the edge of my face. They trail down my neck and my chest, stopping at the purple ink of the briar heart tattoo. "I could take a guess as to how you must feel."

"Fuck you," I manage hoarsely; she smiles.

"That your way of saying you miss me?"

I wince, my expression turning desperate.

"You know that I do."

"Do I?" She traces the purple ink with this teasing smile on her face.

"You took everything from me," I croak out, feeling the searing pain of those first few days without her. "Everything. My soul. My heart. I've nothing left for myself."

I am crying now.

She starts laughing again.

"_You_ left, Marrick," she reminds me, sweetly. "_You_ left. Everything I 'took', you practically gave me. You threw it to the wind, and I picked up all the pieces. I was alone-"

"No," I moan.

"Am alone-"

"_No!_" I plead, my words wracked by my sobs. "I had to, Rontu, I had to, you know I had to, it's not safe!"

She shakes her head, that smile lingering.

"You could have told me," she says, like I don't say it to myself enough every day. "You should have told me. We could have faced Him together."

"I know," I whisper, my eyes burning from the tears as I shut them. "I know."

"Then, what stopped you?"

"Rontu-" I say helplessly, "Rontu, I'm so afraid."

"And, that's stronger than you?" She cocks her head, her eyes patronizing. "Stronger than us?" I can't bring myself to voice my answer. I don't want to see her disappointment when she sees my doubt. "If that's so, Marrick, then you never loved me at all."

"You know that's not true, I'm doing this to protect you!"

"_I,_" she raises her chin, and the act slaps me in the face for how it reminds me of myself, "_I_ don't need protection from anyone. It seems you've forgotten who I am." She smiles. "I am the Prince of Death, the Child of Daedra. I am the heir of the Ebon Chain, Crosser of the Sea of Ghosts, the Toothless Biter, the Bane of the Dark Brotherhood, the Sharer of Souls, I," she laughs, "am my own protection."

"I didn't want to leave you," I say, weeping like a bitch. "I didn't! I have the _Red Wave_, have her hidden away. We could have been leagues away, in the middle of the sea, away from all of this; that's what I wanted!" I sob. "I wanted you always to be with me."

She shakes her head, smiling softly.

"But, that would mean I couldn't live without you."

"I can't," I bit out. "I can't live without you."

Rontu's smile widens, "But, you _are_, Marrick," she whispers. "You are."

"Rontu-" I'm cut off by footsteps, severe and resounding through the dark void I always meet her in, footsteps, the footsteps, His footsteps. "He's coming now," I breathe, panicking, "Rontu, you have to leave, please!"

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Rontu, _please_!"

"You're so much more than your fear."

"_I am my fear!_" I holler. The footsteps keep coming, louder now, the sound of metal hitting the floor. "You have to leave!"

She isn't listening.

"So much more. One day, you'll know that I'm right. You think he's strong? You think he holds my fate over your head? He doesn't." She beams at me. "You aren't weak, Marrick, you're strong. You'll see. Yes, He has power, yes He's taken everything from you. But, now is the time to make a stand. You know you have the power to take it all back." The footsteps are pounding in my ears, in my own chest it seems. "You know what to do Marrick, don't shy from your destiny. You've been asleep for long enough," she says, "Now, it's time you wake up and fight your fate. Become who you were born to be."

She's gone now. She's escaped Him.

The world is cold, without her near me, and colder still, with His dark presence.

Him.

He stands above me now, in my Princess' place. His armor is like nothing I've ever seen; deep black robes seeping power, and a mask with great, curving horns. He carries a golden-hilted blade, shaped like tendrils intertwined together, and a black staff also seeming to be wound of tendrils. His gauntlets and boots matched the material the mask was made of, and through the mask, I can see His eyes gleaming at me, mockingly.

For the longest time, neither of us speaks. I'm holding my breath, my heart's racing and my eyes are wide and wary. My mind aches with the wish that I could make myself disappear.

But, He sees everything.

Even right through me.

"She got away," He muses, His voice sounding like ten, all speaking together.

I swallow hard, "She got away."

Slowly, to my amazement, my fear of Him dissipates like sand between fingers. She got away; she's gone. Like five years ago, she's gone. And, once again, it's because of this motherfucker.

"_This _time. She got away _this_ time," he amends, before raking his gaze over me. "Something's changed in you," he murmurs. "You're still afraid, yes, that's so. . . but, most of that is for her, not of me. No," he says, surprised. "No, you aren't afraid of me anymore. You're angry. You hate me. You seek vengeance from me."

"I am not afraid," It's my mouth talking but I feel her speaking through me, "I will fight my fate."

I feel strange. I feel. . . like _myself_. And, if I know this, I know he knows this, because He knows all. I open and close my fists, trying to stop the life from returning to them before he can smell it.

"Curious," he says; I can hear the smile on his voice. "In the course of five years, you go from missing sleep due to your fear of me haunting your dreams and threatening to kill the one you claim to love. You did everything I asked of you, from abandoning her, to abandoning your so-called 'destiny' as the 'Dragonborn'. Yet, after speaking to her once, you find your courage. Very curious."

"I've found my courage, aye," I say, and step closer to him. "Now, all that's left is to find you."

Me and my glorious mouth.

"Foolish boy," he says, and begins to laugh. "Do you even know who I am? Who it is you've been fearing all these years?" He doesn't care for my response. "I am Miraak. The true Dragonborn. I await you in Solstheim, where I will enter back into your pitiful world before plunging it under my rule once more. I command legions, boy, whereas you were so afraid of your nightmares of me, that you couldn't even bring yourself to defeat Alduin."

"I can now," I reply, "and, I will."

He pauses, perusing me.

"You can try, little Dragonborn," he says, a smile on his voice. "Until then."

* * *

The red sun is rising and I sit beneath it, overlooking the hills of Whiterun, bathed in its light.

A new day.

My day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the great Redguard, dressed elegantly once more in royal blue and black, as he leaves the city gates. He rounds the bend, and keeps walking towards the stables, stopping in his tracks when he sees me.

I'm sitting astride Fenris, who had almost forgotten who I was, he'd been in his stall so long, all the few things I own strapped away in his saddle bags and tack.

"Yesterday, I said I'd think about it."

"And, did you?" he asks, trying to fight the curve of his lips.

"No," I smile, and he cocks his head at me. "I did dream about it, though. . ."


	11. Chapter 11: Divines Smile

**Hullo, everybody ! I hope you're enjoying your weekend so far! For me, Saturday was the epitome of proactivity, which is very unlike me. I finished the research paper I need to graduate, which is due on Friday, in addition to finishing this chapter. *cue coy smile* I trust you won't be disappointed. Please review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR**

_"I would meet you in Soul Cairn, if that's what meeting you meant."_

_"Yours is like that because mine is near."_

_"There is nothing like you."_

_"You smell like summer. Like the sun. That's how I knew it was you."_

_"You know who I am. . ."_

* * *

I open my eyes.

All is still in my bedroom, the dim light of the morning before dawn slipping through the forest green curtains, brightening squares in the floorboards. From my bed, I can see the long hallway, because my door is always open. I reach for the tankard of water that I keep beside my bedside table to find a handful of fur. Glancing over, I take in the careful, ever-watchful gaze of Na'el, my son's young wolf.

She's a pretty thing, all black, like a shadow's shadow. About three years ago, when my brothers were still finishing our house, she kept appearing at the work site, sitting at the edge of the woods, starring. Bjorn was going to scare him off, but Adjin stopped him, pointing out that she was young and alone. As the months wore on, summer became fall, and fall became winter. The wolf remained at the edge of my home, Windstad Manor, her golden eyes ever-watchful, until the moment she crossed beyond the treeline, through my yard and laid down at my feet.

She reminds me of myself, in that way: her eagerness for somewhere to be safe and accepted. She hasn't to build it up from nothing, as I had, and I was glad for it. Our home and family, became her home and family. She spends her days by my son's side and her nights by mine; she found peace when she was with me.

A mother.

I sigh and ruffle the black fur on the back of her neck, not yet a true mane, a reach back over for my horn of water. It's only after I drink my fill that I allow myself to think of my dream. To think of him.

"Marrick," I whisper, as I have so many mornings before. Unconsciously, my hand drifts up to my chest, where each beat of my heart brings a dull ache to my half of our soul.

The other he had taken with him, that rainy morning five years ago. The world turned, though, and I with it, coming into my own in Hjaalmarch and earning a wage as a huntress. As Marrick predicted, we have a few unwelcome visitors every now and then, but it is all good sport and keeps me on my toes. I draw my knees up to my chest and hug them, my brow furrowing as I dwell on this man I swore to hate for all of this life and the next.

"Marrick," I try again, but it still sounds like a plea.

No matter how deceitful, no matter how hurtful, no matter, no matter, no matter.

Without him, there was no sun, no stars and no moons. The days were long and the nights were cold and everything was void and silent. There was no life. No life. I smile absently.

That was before my baby.

That was before my Segen.

Just as I was thinking this, a small form entering the room catches my attention; I smile. My bed is tall enough so that I can only see the ink-black topknot of hair, plodding up and down as its owner comes around the side of the bed, and upon entering it, finally appears.

"_Mi'kan,_" I say, my smile widening, "My little one. What are you doing awake?"

My son sighs dramatically and flops down onto the mattress beside me.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Couldn't sleep," I echo, in wonder. One of my habits after having a child. Everything about him amazes and astounds me. I always find myself wanting to turn to his father and gush about what we created together. Whenever I turn to my right side, however, he is never there.

I recall my first few moments with him, after I recovered from his delivery. . .

I was sitting at the desk in my room, writing one last letter, and something told me to put down my pen and go to my son, whose cradle was across from my window seat.

My window seat.

My windows, my walls, my floors, my rafters, my house, my land.

My eyes drifted back to the cradle; my son.

Segen.

A strong name for a strong boy. _My boy_, I tried to persuade myself, but I knew it wasn't true. He would never be all mine.

He favors me in his color, a pretty golden brown. He has my mouth, too, and my high cheekbones and my ears. But, none of the rest had any part of me. Those hands, they were Marrick's, as well as that aquiline nose. The stubborn chin I knew so well. The shock of soft, curly black hair; I stroked it absently.

"Azrael, Segen Azrael," I whispered. "For yours is the blood of kings."

My son reached up, catching my finger in his little fat paws. He smiled at me, waving his conquest around in the air while I watched him reverently.

Then, he opened his eyes, and that broke the spell, teasing me for my folly.

Split right down the middle, I swear to all the gods.

Because, rather than either Marrick's eyes, or my own, Segen has both. The gleaming black as his right eye, and for his left, the Zo'an white.

I shake myself from these thoughts, reminding myself that I can no longer think of him.

Marrick owns my dreams and my thoughts in the early morning hours.

Every other waking moment belongs to my son.

I peruse his comment and fight my urge to laugh. What about this easy life makes him think he's even _capable_ of not sleeping?

I decide to humor him.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Grandmother!" he exclaims, exasperatedly. "She talks my ear off all night long, telling me about Papa."

Without both Ghost Eyes, Segen cannot see the dead. But, he sure can hear them.

"Does it still scare you?" I want to know. "Talking to your grandmother?"

He shakes his head, "No, but I can't sleep." He rubs his Ghost Eye with his small fist; it's glowing a faint violet. "She's always talking."

I take a moment to study him, how vigorously he's rubbing his eye. I know how badly it can itch and hurt when overused. The next time I see Ileana, I'm knocking her into Soul Cairn.

"Let me know now if she's really bothering you."

"Why?" he asks, his face full of suspicion. "What will you do?"

I give a small but serious smile.

"I will make her stop."

"Don't," he says, "I don't want her to go away forever." I start laughing. "It's not funny! I don't!"

"You're stuck with her as much as I," I grin. "Did she tell you she'd leave if you told her to stop talking for a while?" He nods guiltily, and I laugh again, tugging on the braided mohawk of his black hair. "That's not true, baby. You see, she has no sense of time; it's different for them, where they are."

"Oh." Segen's brow furrows in thought. "Does she talk to Papa, too?"

I don't miss a beat.

"He doesn't have the Sight, like you and me," I reply, "but, I like to think she can."

"Oh," he mutters again, staring up at the rafters.

It's been four years since I had any word about Marrick. The world is fallen into chaos and anarchy, making me ever grateful that Morthal is supposedly "cursed". Here, we're safe from the outside world. Everyone in this town has something to hide. I thought I was hiding my son, but I wasn't. There are so many rumors surrounding the disappearance of the Dragonborn. Some say that he abandoned his quest, some say he never existed, and some say that he is dead.

The second option I know to be untrue. But, if I ever learn of either the first or the last being true, I don't know what I would do with myself. I look at my son out of the corner of my eye. _I should have told him,_ I want to sob. _I should have told him about you._

Segen's hand finds mine, and I grasp it tight, watching the beams of wood with him. "Happy birthday, Mama," he says quietly. I squeeze his hand, and smile. I'd almost forgotten.

I'm twenty-eight today, the seventeenth of Sun's Dawn.

Today, I will see many people who I love. It kills me that none of them will be him.

* * *

"Bjorn! You put my child down, NOW!"

The mammoth-sized Nord does not listen, as Segen fastens to his uncle's head while his twin cousins, Bjorn's own sons, each wrap themselves around a shoulder.

"What giant do you know will put down his meal?" he booms, a terrible scowl on his face. "_RAAAAAH!_"

The children on his back and neck scream laughingly as he grabs at them, tucking Gaelen under one arm and Faelen and Segen under the other. Once they're secure, he trots back to the house to meet me.

"There ya are," he laughs, setting them down. "Go give your aunt and mother a kiss. But, make it quick, cos I'm coming to get mine in a moment."

I give each boy a kiss, and can't contain my grin as Bjorn approaches me for his.

"Oh, but I've missed you!" he thunders, drawing me up into a backbreaking hug.

"Oh, no you don't!" I laugh, pushing at his shoulders. "I've known you to kill men, with hugs like that."

"Fuck that, woman, I'll hug you any way I please!"

I kiss his face, and he finally sets me down.

"Where's that wife of yours?"

He nods over his shoulder, towards where my stables are.

"We came with Ralof. He's helping her off that blasted wagon."

"Pregnant again, then?" I smirk.

"Whenever I can get her to lay down."

Bjorn and Paia live in Windhelm with their sons, making a home out of the Butcher's old headquarters, Hjerim. Nolan and Wendell share an apartment nearby, Ralof has a place in the Palace of Kings. Keiran now runs Bear Claw Squad, and Wendell has taken my place in it.

All of them are on their way here.

"I've forgotten how crude you Nords can be," I laugh, landing a solid punch on his arm. "I am happy for you, Bjorn. Thank you, for taking care of my sister."

"Thank you for letting me."

Paia walks up the road to where we stand, a slow smile spreading across her dark brown face. She wears flat boots and a dark green travelling dress that compliments her coming child. She draws back the hood of her midnight blue hood, revealing her deep black hair, pulled back into a ponytail.

I pull her into my arms, burying my face in the crook of my neck.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hi," she whispers back.

I have missed my sister dearly, as has Segen. Before marrying Born, she lived with us, playing house for me when I was away earning.

"Alright, alright, out of my way," grunted Ralof, shoving between them. "RONNY!" he croons, sweeping me up in his arms. "We've missed you, in the barracks."

"And, I've missed you at my table."

"Where's my godschild?"

"Hiding, if he's smart," chuckles Bjorn. "Who the fuck would ever call you godsfather?"

"Shut the fuck up, Agatha."

Bjorn holds Ralof's stare for a moment before lunging after him, ducking into the house.

"Watch my doors, damn it!"

Paia laughs, throwing an arm over my shoulders, as we gaze out over my world.

"How about that?" I ask, disbelievingly. "You and me: mothers." I shake my head, "I still can't fathom how any of this is possible."

"_You_ did it," she smiles. "You made the world safe for us again." I start to deny it, but she stops me. "You did, Rontu."

I sigh, my mind racing through everything I've lost and gained.

I give her a sly smile, "I did, didn't I?"

She punches me in the arm; I punch her back.

"Come on, let's go inside," she laughs.

"Where're the others?"

"Kieran and Wendell and Nolan are coming later tonight. I'm not supposed to tell you, but they're bringing you a present." She bit her lower lip. "From Ulfric."

The breath left my lungs.

"Ulfric?"

"Just so."

"That's all I am to him, now: meaningless gifts? Whatever happened to friendship? Jewels mean nothing; Ulfric knows that."

"He's fighting a war."

"A war that matters, yes I know, I was a part of it," I remind her. "I'm not asking for Ulfric, but I do want something. Words. Letters. Information." I sigh, shaking my head. "You'd think he'd want to tell me something for his life now."

"Oh, but he does," she smiles. "Maybe a little more than you know." My brow furrows at that, but Paia doesn't let me dwell on it. "Will Adjin be making an appearance tonight?"

"I honestly have no clue. He disappeared last week and said he'd be back for my birthday, but," I make a show of looking all around, "clearly, he is not." Paia looks as if she wants to say something, but doesn't. "Out with it," I sigh.

"I'm sorry," she says guiltily, probably remembering our pact to hold back nothing. "I was just thinking what if he- what if Adjin -" she looks around and lowers her voice. "What if he's been looking for him? What if he's "

"You must be drunk."

"I'm not drunk; I'm pregnant!"

"Then it's the baby talking."

"No it's not-"

"Then, the baby's drunk and talking and it's making you talk drunk." It's almost an order. "Adjin would NOT. Do that to me. He wouldn't. He knows I'm not ready."

"As much as you miss Marrick?" he pushes. "As much as you want to see-"

"_He knows I'm not ready!_" I repeat, more forcefully. "Enough of this, Paia. It's my birthday."

She seems to remember that and starts to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she says earnestly, "Rontu, I- I won't mention it again."

"Don't worry about it," I sigh, and try to smile as best I can. "It's my birthday. Let's celebrate."

* * *

We decided to move the party outside on the lawn.

The bards that came with the College of Winterhold's new Master of Illusion, Jarsha Kemet O'Naharis, play very well.

They're all dancing out in my lawn, Bjorn, Ralof, Jarsha, Ri'saad, Paia, Idgrod, Niruin, Vex, Cynric. Members of the Dark Brotherhood and Thieves Guild and Stormcloaks and Khajiit caravan alike. Na'el travels aimlessly between legs, hoping to catch some fallen food. Wine and ale flow like water, and sweet and sourleaf kush like air. The sky weaves colors through the aurora borealis, reddening and purpling madly as the stars emerge to play, torchbugs lighting the world as they mimicked them.

A good night to turn twenty-eight.

Colored banners, streamers and lanterns hang from the trees around the manor, and several tables are strewn about, laden with food. There's red meat, sweet meat, stew, fresh fruit, sweets and delicacies from around the world. People from around the world, too, all to see and celebrate me, my smile never far from my face.

Adjin arrives a little after the ninth hour, and he does indeed bring a friend.

"Kematu!" I scream, as the tall Redguard embraced me, several Alik'r warriors whose names I'd almost forgotten smiling behind him. "I didn't know you were even alive, you sneaky son of a bitch!"

When we escaped the city, it was hard to come into contact with any others. Kematu was a student of my father's, and a close friend of Adjin's. Having him in my home, with so many faces of my childhood is unreal.

"I could say the same to you," Kematu laughs. "There are plenty of us left, if you know where to look." His visage is suddenly serious, and just as I'm about to ask him about it, he shakes his head, his smile returning. "No, we'll speak of that later. Tonight is about you."

Me, and all my friends.

And, more still coming.

In addition to the thirty people in my yard, who should trudge up its road but Kieran, Nolan, Wendell, and behind them. . .

"ULFRIC!" He sweeps me up, just about squeezing the life out of me as my feet leave the ground. "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be fighting a war!"

"One I expect to be winning soon," he smiles. "Besides. How could I go into battle next week without having seen your face."

"Ulfric," I laugh, embarrassed.

"Never mind that," he says, "How's my little liar?"

"Absolutely wonderful."

"Absolutely wonderful, eh?" His merry blue eyes peruse me, as he laughs to himself. "Aye, it would appear so. And, how is your little liar?"

As if on cue, my son runs into the back of our king's knees.

He looks up at the rebel king, and his face turns serious.

"My lord Ulfric," he says, but rather than bow his head, he holds eye-contact with him. I don't need to think long about who it reminds me of, and I know Ulfric sees it, too.

"My dear lord Segen," Ulfric grins back, placing a fist over his heart. "It has been far too long."

"Are you dancing with my mother?"

"No," Ulfric says, laughing at the directness of his question. "Well, not presently."

"Good," nods my son, and takes my hand, leading me towards the mass of bodies.

I draw my five-year-old into my arms, rocking him back in forth as we dance cheek to cheek, my brothers of all organizations all around us, clapping and hooting and throwing colored confetti.

"Speeeech!" crows Jarsha, pumping his fist. "Let's hear a speech, little sister!"

I try to kill that at the root, but root is exactly what it takes, as my Stormcloak brothers take up his call.

"Speech!" they bellow, "Give us a speech!"

Bjorn hoists me up onto his shoulder and sets me on top of my table.

I cover my face with my hands, but they're having none of that, and, seeing no way out. I sigh and ask someone to pass me a horn of mead and my son. Once the drink is in my hand, and Segen is on my hip, I smile, feeling very full, looking out at the many faces of people I have touched and who have touched back.

"Hey," I grin, and they greet me back with thunderous applause. "They say that the Divines smile upon those who deserve it," I start, and shake my head, "and if you know me, then you know I never did." The buzz in the room falls silent, all their attention focused on me. "I came from Hegathe," I continue, and can't help but laugh, "searching for these two bastards." Everyone laughs, slapping my brothers on the back as they laugh along, trying to hold back their tears. "Who would have thought," I sputter laughingly, "that I'd start out seeking only two men, and that I'd come away with all of you?" The weight of my heart falls on them, changing the mood of the entire room. "There are many things I've had to sacrifice. But, I never lost sight of my dream: building a house that I could make a home. A place where I could feed the people I love. A safe haven for those who lost their own." My eyes are swimming. "That's you," I smile, through tear-stained eyes. I bounced my son on my hip, "That's him. I have loved and lost. I've been left broken and deceived, left crying, left wounded, left alone, left for dead, left angry, left dazed and confused; I have been left! Abandoned so many times, I've lost count." I shake my head, eyes squeezed shut, smiling, "None of that matters. What matters is that I'm still here, and that you're still here with me." I bounce Segen again, and look him in his perfect, mismatched eyes, my smile trembling. I kiss his face. "With us."

"With us," he echoes, and I sputter another laugh in wonderment.

I kiss his face.

"Who am I to argue?" I ask them; they chuckle tearfully. "Five years, to come to this point, and I realize that no, the Divines never did smile upon me. They laughed on me. They walked with me. They favored me, in spite of everything. I didn't always deserve it, but I know that I do now. They give with one hand; take away with the other," I add quietly. "But, in spite of that, I know I'm walking away with the better deal." I look back at my son, grinning. "Do you agree, baby?" He nods, and we all laugh again. "He agrees!" I shout, and they applaud the fact. "That's the end of my speech! Bjorn, get me off this table!"

"Just a moment, darling," he croons. "You en't done up there."

As he says this, everyone near a lamp light or torch snuffs it out, leaving only the moonlight lighting the darkened yard. My brows pull in with confusion, but all is clarified when Paia exits the house with a large, be-candled cake. The bards start up again, and I'm laughing, stunned, as hand held sparklers explode to life, fizzing off light like stars all around my son and I.

We're dancing again, rocking back and forth on the table, laughing hard together, cheek to cheek.

It's at this moment that my own parents choose to appear to me.

"**Mana**," I breathe, stepping out of myself. "**Baba**."

I still hold Segen in my arms, though he can only hear, and he's learned by now to pretend otherwise.

"**My** **daughter**," smiles Baba, touching my face. "**My little Segen.**" He's choking up on tears, which is very unlike my father. My mother steps in, laughing lightly, her eyes swimming.

"**We cannot stay long**," she explains, stroking my son's face. "**We just came to say happy birthday, precious**." She finds my brothers and Paia, and covers her mouth, her brows turning up at the ends. "**You have done so well, Rontu. We are so proud of you. You**," she chuckles, and turns me around. "**Can't you see all that you've made**?"

My mother has turned me to face myself, Segen in my arms.

I am wearing blue quilted fine clothes, a brown belt cinches my waist. My face is my own, reconstructed by the sculptor, using the painting Adjin's locket to bring me back. The series of black dots along my cheekbones, and the black paint on my mouth also return me to myself, alongside all my piercings. My red-brown hair now reaches my waist, and makes up a rope-thick braid that falls down my back. I look elegant and above all else, I look happy, my son's face pressed to mine, and our family all around us.

"Yes," I whisper, my parents having left, the dancing bodies of those I love all seeming to move the night. "Yes, I see it all."

Still, I cannot stop my ache.

The Divines are smiling on us, now, and don't get me wrong, it's a nice smile.

I just know of one way it could be truly beautiful.

**(A/N): I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you have any soundtrack ideas please share. Thanks for reading, and please review ! -LR**


	12. Chapter 12: Regret

**Hullo, everybody. This chapter is not very eventful, so I'm sorry. But, please review anyway and, I hope you enjoy ! -LR**

It's late when Adjin finally returns to the Winking Skeever. He gives me the barest of glances when he breezes through the door of our rented room, but does a double-take when he realizes how I actually look, which is fucking terrible.

In addition to the unruly hair and the beard that I just can't be bothered with, my eyes are bloodshot from a day of not drinking. In spite of that, I still stink of Honningbrew mead, as if the smell is seeping from my sallow skin. The rings beneath my eyes have lightened a little, and I've had a bath or two since joining back up with Adjin, but my hands give me away with shivers, reminding me of what makes a drunk: dependence.

He can only stay warm for so long, without having liquor in his veins.

But, I don't go into that. I ignore how he's studying me, how defensive it's making me, and I take the offensive.

"Where were you?"

Adjin pauses in the middle of shrugging out of his fine sunset-colored cape, his head turning slightly in my direction. I'm sitting across from where he is, by the door to the rented room, in a chair. Been waiting all day for him to show up.

"Do you truly wish to know?"

See, that's his whole fucking problem: he doesn't give straight answers, he just manipulates people into answering themselves.

No, I don't "truly wish" to fucking know, because, I already know where it is he's been.

He's been to see Rontu.

I know this because today is the seventeenth of Sun's Dawn, which is my one sober days, five years running. It also just so happens to be her birthday.

That was sarcasm.

Watching him leave out of the Winking Skeever, with those Redguards is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, on top of everythin' else. I'm hungry as all hell- haven't eaten shit all day, save for my own spit. No ale, either; I'm on a fast. Most people fast for their gods, and they leave off sex or drink or food or drugs or speech. Not me.

No, I fast for her.

This single day, every year, is the only one that I allow myself to feel every bit of loss and shame and desperation and above all else, nostalgia. This is the one day I don't try to distract myself from that woman, and every feeling that thinking of her comes with.

Each year, it gets harder and harder to put off drink, even if it is only for a day. I can't seem to function without it. Even now, my legs are shivering, my fingers twitch, and my mind's slow. Just now, it's reaching the conclusion I wasn't quick enough to consider when I asked him where he'd been.

"No," I sigh, leaning back in my chair, "I suppose I don't."

Adjin doesn't reply, instead gives this tight, knowing nod as he unwraps a large, sage green scarf from around his neck, unwinding the Alik'r hood to reveal his elegant afro.

"You are angry with me," he says, reading me. "You are angry, because I left you behind."

"Leave me alone."

"You think I'm being cruel, and maybe I am." He takes the other chair. "But, letting her see you like this would be far crueler, no?"

"Shut the fuck up," I seethe.

"You aren't ready to see her, Marrick. But, that doesn't mean you aren't trying to be," he says. "The fact that you know where I'm going; the fact that you've refused to eat anything; the fact that you converse with her in your sleep," he shakes his head, shrugging, "they prove this."

He stares at me a long time, while I stare at the floor, willing him to stop.

But, he wants a response from me, this much I can tell.

"If I'm not ready to see her now, then when will I be? I've wasted enough time chasing bullshit, and I know for certain nothing will be the same without her."

"In truth, nothing will be the same, ever, Marrick, even if you are reunited with her. You made sure of that five years ago."

He's not trying to be harsh, he's only telling the truth.

And what's more is, he's right. I did.

"I need to be with her."

"No," he dissents, "you need to come into your own."

My brow furrows, and I blink hard, trying to force my brain to form a coherent thought.

"She's a woman with lands now, Marrick. Property. Wealth. You go to her now, in your sorry, drunk state, and even if she does accept you, you would never forgive yourself."

I blink again. Shit. He's right again.

It's easier to do this whole thinking thing, with Adjin pointing out all the right thoughts.

What sort of man would I be, if I just lived off of what she gave me? I laugh once, bitterly. Exactly the same man I used to be. She'd become another organization for me to grab hold of and slowly sap dry.

That isn't what I want.

I don't have to explain this to Adjin, so I bring up something else that's been fucking with me.

"Well, what about the Redguard we plucked up, out of the Swindler's Den?" I ask heatedly. "Did he come with you to her place?"

"They did." His face is stone; he's been waiting for this tantrum, and I do so hate to disappoint. "So did many others. Her Stormcloak Brothers. Her Thieves Guild Brothers." Adjin shrugs lightly, "Ulfric Stormcloak."

My brow furrows, my fists clench tight.

"What!"

He cocks his head in wonder.

"She isn't dead, Marrick. She's alive. And the difference between the dead and the living, my friend, is that the living move on." I must look helpless as shit, because he says, "If you don't want that, then you have to live as well. You have to become a man again."

"How do I do that?"

"Fulfill your destiny. Just as she has fulfilled her own." His serious brown eyes pin me to the spot. "Deserve her, Marrick."

I press my fingertips to my eyes, harder and harder, until I see stars.

Once again, my father, my brother, my friend, he's right.

But, that still leaves one question absolutely unanswered.

"And, if that's what we both want," I begin carefully, "if you and me are really both on the same page. . ." he crosses his arms, watching me, ". . . then why in Oblivion would you start bringing warriors like that Redguard to her?"

"You mean Kematu?" he laughs, as my jaw clenches. "Kematu is married, you have nothing to fear from him."

"Then, why did you bring-"

"Really, Marrick? You would question why I would bring the old friends of our homeland, men neither I nor Rontu never expected to see again, to her home?" At my silent stare, he gives a small, reassuring smile. "I wouldn't do that to you Marrick. But, those men are free-thinking, and will do as they please; I have no power over them."

"Adjin, you fucking traitor."

He shrugs, "Consider it motivation."

"What the fuck!" I snap, incredulous, "You're doing exactly what you just said you wouldn't do!"

His laughing face turns serious and inquisitive, like he's studying me.

"If that's what you are afraid of, Marrick, then why didn't you follow me earlier? When Kematu, his Company and myself went to her home?"

I pin him with a hard look, my jaw clenching.

"Did you not just say that even if I tried to follow me, you wouldn't have let me?"

He winces mockingly, as though I've stepped on a tripwire.

"No, that's not it." The wince turns into a smirk. "It's not because of me, Marrick, it's because of you." I wet my lips as he gives me this calculating look. "There's only one reason, that you didn't follow me." I sigh, _He's found me out._ "Only one." He leans in closer, that grin still on his face. "You see, it shouldn't have mattered, whether I wanted you to follow or not. If you were still as great and disciplined a thief as you once were, getting past me wouldn't have been a problem."

I hit the table with my open palm, "Stop talking."

He ignores me.

"You didn't because you couldn't; I would have noticed you. That's how bad you've gotten." I don't have the heart to defend myself. "You're slow, Marrick, slow and sloppy. The years haven't been kind to you, I'm sorry to say."

"Are you, really?" I seethe, "'Cause, you sure as hell en't acting like it."

Adjin shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

"Do you think I wish to see you so pathetic?" I shrug, but I know that he doesn't, of course he doesn't. But he keeps saying shit that makes me think otherwise. For example: "I wonder, did you watch yourself slowly deteriorate into dogshit, or do you feel you simply woke up changed into it?"

My fists clench, but I keep my words cold.

"Take your pick," I snort. "Makes no difference to little old me."

"Doesn't it?" He cocks his head slightly, stroking his beard. "You were the pinnacle of thief, of assassin. You commanded the darkness, made it your slave."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I say, with a faint smile, "I'm taken."

Once again, he ignores me.

"Don't you take this lightly, don't you dare!" he rages, and that about shocks all the sass out of me. It is very, very difficult to make Adjin show emotion. "You had a penchant for silence and stealth the like of which I have never seen, Marrick. And now, what? You're this?" I look to the floor in shame. "Don't look away from me."

It takes all the effort in the world, but I force myself to meet his gaze.

"Just haven't been myself," I whisper hoarsely. I'm trying my best to avoid this conversation. "We both know I can never be what I was; I'm too far out of practice."

Adjin winces again, tutting, and I know that he knows how pathetic saying that made me feel.

"Today is the last day for that excuse."

Now, he has my full attention.

I glance at him in suspicion, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"What, indeed," he smirks. "We're going back to hell."

My mind wipes.

Cold terror strikes me, from my skin to my heart, and my every hair's standing on end; I have the shakes worse than I did before. For almost a full minute, I'm statue-still, the air around me and him is charged and tense. Then, I'm up, my chair is over, and I'm hitting the door, running hard and fast.

Running for my life.

I make it to the steps, and down the steps, and to the taproom, and out of the taproom, my heart lifting. _I can make it!_ I fling the door open, and Adjin's there, waiting for me, unamused.

"You're right, Marrick, you aren't yourself." I don't even get a word out before he snatches me by the hair, and yanks hard; I fall over behind him as he drags me back into the tavern. I'm screaming and struggling and kicking against him; my hair feels like it's being ripped out of my scalp, and the wood floor is rough on the palms of my hands. Adjin keeps dragging, all eyes in the room on us. "Weak," he booms, "Doubting. Slow." On _Slow_, he pitches me forward, sending me crashing into a table, the men sitting around it springing up, yelping. "I was waiting a full thirty seconds for you to open that tavern door," he fumes, crossing over to me. "What, did you stop for a drink?"

"_Son a bitch!_" I'm stumbling in the broken ruins of the table, covered in ale and roast rabbit, trying to find my feet. Adjin snatches me by the hair again, and raises me up to drive his knee into my ribs. "SHIT!"

"Unkempt," he hisses, and shoves me forward. "Undisciplined." I whirl around, fuming. There's only so much of this a man can take before he en't considered a man, anymore. But, that doesn't make it a good idea to take a swing at a man like Adjin, which is exactly what I fucking do. He dodges effortlessly. "Clumsy."

I throw my other fist, and he knocks it aside, useless. I'm left wide open, and raises his leg high, kicking me in the chest with the flat of his foot; I'm airborne again, and this time, slam into the bar.

This is it, I'm done. I've finally done the one thing I promised myself I'd never do, which is to disappoint him. I've lost everything already. But, without Adjin, I know for sure that there's no way out.

He crosses to me, and I watch his shadow as blood runs down from my nostrils, everything about me bruising and hurting. Adjin stands above me now, but I can't bring myself to look at him.

"Marrick," he says, like the command of a king. "Marrick, stand up." I wipe the blood from my nose and spit out more. He sighs, "I won't come down to you again, Marrick. This time, you have to stand yourself up and get on my level."

"I can't go back to hell," I say quietly. "You know that shit would kill me."

"Or, it'll bring you back," he replies. "Which will it be, Marrick? The decision is yours."

I want to tell him I don't know. But, it's like my tongue is too big for my mouth, and I can't speak. Instead, all I can do is look at the palms of my hands, red from him dragging me all over the floor, and breathe.

Hell is training.

But, that would be the understatement of a lifetime; it's not called "hell" for no reason. It's what made me into who I was, after I met Adjin. For three years since I was nineteen, he trained me in ways unimaginably intense. He made me strong.

Maybe, if I'm really fucking still, he won't notice me or he'll lose interest or some shit.

"I won't hold your hand, Marrick."

"Have you ever before?" I snarl.

He lets this slide, and I'm glad, because we both know I don't mean it.

"Stand up, Marrick."

That makes me snap again.

"Why do you even try?" I seethe, "Or care? I don't even care!" His brow furrows, and I shake my head, laughing. "I'll never be what I was, but even after five years, my worst is most men's best. That en't bad."

"It isn't most men that we're after here, Marrick; It's Alduin," he stresses. "Your best is his worst." I gather up some more blood in my mouth, and spit it out. "Stand up, Marrick," he says.

I raise my eyes to his and, unwavering, I hold his gaze.

**(A/N) Once again, I'm sorry this chapter was so short ! _ There's another on the way, though, so just wait for me~! I look forward to the reviews. -LR**


	13. Chapter 13: Husband

**Hullo everybody! I've been working on this one all week. It's just more exciting to write about Marrick's stuff than Rontu's, I guess :P. The next one's coming out soon, so please review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR**

"_Tired?_" Kematu laughs, incredulous, his brown eyes warm and teasing. "What have you got to be tired about, Rontu? You're spoiled!"

"Me, spoiled?" I scoff incredulously, looking around the table at Ralof and Bjorn for some support. Of course, there is none. "Excuse the hell out of me, but I remember a certain training session when a certain boy threw a tantrum for being beaten by a certain girl." I cock my head, smirking, "Don't you?"

He shrugs, his grin broadening, "Hmm, no, I don't think I do."

"If that's what she remembers of your childhood, then we've much in common, Master Redguard," Bjorn snorts, mopping his mouth with his black beard. "First day in Windhelm, this child decides she's going to be a Stormcloak. She don't stop there, either, no. Decides she's going to prove her salt by taking out Kieran, Nolan and me."

"Sounds like her, all right," Kematu smiles, as I rise from the table, heading to the kitchen. "Always proving something to someone," he calls after me. "Something I learned at a very young age."

I shake my head as I reach the other room, listening to my friends talk.

"You're Hegathean, then?" asked Ralof, "Like Rontu and Adjin and Jarsha?"

"No, no," chuckles Kematu, "We're Tanethian. My kinsman, from last night, and me. I was sent to Hegathe for training under Rontu's father, Raigatz O'Naharis, by my father, Pontos. And, even still, I became Alik'r in Stros M'Kai."

"Such places," murmurs Ralof around a mouthful of goat cheese. "Such people. There are but a few Redguards around Skyrim," he comments. "I'm just thinking back to a time when even Rontu seemed a threat to Skyrim, all because she's a Redguard."

At this, Bjorn's face crumples questioningly.

"I've always wondered, why _'Redguard'_?" He shrugs dubiously, "You are more brown than red, no?"

"Could I not ask you the same?" Kematu smirks. "What the hell sort of color is _'Nord'_?"

Bjorn slaps the table to accompany his booming guffaw, the other men chiming in with him.

He and his family, Ralof, Kematu, and Jarsha remained at my place, staying in three of my spare bedrooms. Bjorn and Paia stayed in the other suite, with Faelen and Gaelen in Segen's room. Ralof and Kematu shared a room with three beds, and Jarsha would have been with them, but we spent the night talking at my kitchen table.

"So, Adjin wasted no time leaving," I commented. My brother raised his brows with a knowing look as he refilled my cup of coffee. "Which is funny, because all his family is right here."

"Rontu," he warned.

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't, what?"

"Don't do this to yourself." I chewed on my lower lip. "You know where he went. I know where he went. So, just don't."

He held this serious look until I raised my hands in mock-surrender.

"Fine! Fine." I shrugged, "I won't mention it again."

I took a drink as he watched me a while longer, "Yes, you will," he sighed. Before I could respond, he stood from the table and moved to the hearth, stoking the flames. "Pretty bad snowfall."

"Yes, we tend to have those here," I laughed, nodding at the window. "We'll be getting around six or seven tonight."

"Six or seven snowfalls?"

"Six or seven inches." We both laughed at that, and when we quieted, I realized how much I missed my brother. "It's good to have you all here," I said quietly, staring into my mug. "This house is too big for just us. Even now, as cold as it is tonight, it's so much warmer with people to put in those empty beds."

"Rontu," he said, helplessly, "I would be here in a heartbeat, if I could. But, it's so far from the College; I can't travel the East Road every day and-"

"I'm not complaining, Kemet. Nor am I blaming you, it's just-"

"Summer," he said firmly; I stopped talking. "When the summer break comes, I'll hold off on my Destruction research, and I'll live here for three months."

"Jarsha-"

"I want to," he assured me. "I do. I've spent four years teaching already. I think I can afford to take a break."

I smiled, "Because, otherwise, what's the point?" We both laughed. "It would be good if you did. Segen shows a lot of promise in Magicka, which, as you know, I have no skill for. I could use a Master to train him." I cock my head, in thought. "Combat, too."

"Aren't you teaching him the Alik'r style?"

I nodded, "But, it wouldn't be an advantage, since we live in Skyrim. These Nords wear armor and carry great shields. The Alik'r form is a tradition, and vital to truly master the scimitar," I explain, "but, he ought to have the best of both worlds, to be a truly accomplished swordsman." Jarsha made a loud, exaggerated sigh. "And, what does that mean?"

"_That_?" Jarsha snorted. "_That_ means that for all your griping and complaining, we're going to have this argument. _Again_," he huffed. "Now. You need-"

"Don't you say it!"

"You need-"

"I'm warning you!"

"_A man in this place_," he finished, ignoring my wailing. "A proper, dutiful, strong and loyal steward, to keep your accounts, tutor your son, and manage your estate."

"Adjin does those things," I said dismissively.

"Adjin's off gallivanting with You-Know-Who," he dissents. My mouth snapped shut. "A steward, or a husband. Take your pick."

I gave a brother a level glance.

"I am married, Jarsha," I announced grandly, "What, did you miss the nuptials? Here is my husband," I said, and drew my dirk from its sheath at the small of my back. I stuck it deftly in my table, and meet his gaze again. "Any other candidates should take it up with him."

Jarsha was unamused.

"Steward, or husband," he echoed, unfazed.

Our gazes meet, straining against each other in a battle of wills that I eventually lost.

"Steward," I grumbled.

He nodded approvingly, "Good. I was waiting for you to say so. I already have someone in mind; I'll write to him presently. He's the perfect match, for you and for Segen."

I snorted, "For your sake, he'd better be."

"Oh, Rontu, have you so little faith in your big brother?"

I threw him a dirty look, "Fuck you."

Jarsha merely laughed, "No wonder your spouse is a dirk." A warm, companionable silence stretched on between us, wind howling outside. "Mmm," he grunted appreciatively, finishing his drink. He drummed his fingers on the table, "It was good to see them. Kematu. . . Hassan. . . Mishak. . . Dirar. . . Alimah. . . Jhalis." He shook his head. "So many names I never thought I'd hear or say, ever again."

"Mm," I assented, taking a drink. "Know what you mean."

He seemed to steady himself, and cast a glance in my direction.

"There's another name, too," he said. "One that I've been hearing quite a lot, recently."

I stared into my drink.

"If you're going to say it, then just say it," I mused.

"Shazaa," he said quietly, "Shazaa Ibn Rahaim." The kitchen grew very quiet, with only the wind and snow blowing harshly outside to fill the lack of sound. I studied my hands carefully, as though it were my first time seeing them. He sighed. "Alright. I take it back. Pretend I didn't say anything."

I shook my head, "I can't just fake like I didn't hear you. This is something I've been anticipating for a very long time. And, I'm not afraid anymore, to face it." I slid my gaze over to meet his, "Where is he now, brother? I'll meet him on my own terms."

His shoulder rose and fell tiredly, "I don't know," he said. "But, someone in this house, does."

My brows pulled in as I regarded him, _Someone?_

Then, it all clicked.

"_Kematu._"

Presently, my friend looks up smilingly from his conversation with Paia, and rises when I beckon him to follow me. I make it to the kitchen first, my nervous energy causing me to find and start scrubbing a pot sitting in the basin. Kematu walks in smoothly behind me, laughing still, a bread roll in his hand.

"Your friends, Rontu, they. . ." he manages between spurts of laughter, "They're very amusing."

I drop the cloth into the pot, and pick up the hem of apron to dry my hands. I turn to face him, keeping my voice cool and measured.

"You've been harboring Shazaa." Kematu's smile falls slowly, fading until his laugh lines smooth over, his visage serious. This only makes my fists clench tight, nails digging into palms. "You've been harboring Shazaa at Swindler's Den."

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, as he considers his next words carefully.

"I'm not your enemy," he says, and it's only to be expected. Redguards hold conversations as though they are playing at a strategy game. I took the offense, to call his bluff. His responding move was to assure me that he isn't a threat to me.

I have to continue the pressure.

"And, is he? Do you not think I know that he's been looking for me? There is a reason why I have been avoiding him, Kematu, and it's that he sold my family out and I don't trust him." Now, to take my attack to the next level, and set up my position. I snatch a butcher's knife from the block and turn it over in my hands. "So, forgive me, but if I get the slightest itch that tells me that you've done anything to endanger myself and my son, I will slit you from nose to navel," I say, my tone still conversational. "And, I will not be sorry, Kematu. I've sacrificed too much already to be sorry now."

Kematu's tongue makes another appearance; he's thinking again.

"I will not say that I never intended to have him meet you."

"Because that would be a lie."

He lets go of a harsh breath, "Calm down, Rontu."

_Wrong move._

"Not when it concerns the safety of my son," I snap. "Have you forgotten what he caused? What we lost, because of his treachery?"

Kematu holds my gaze for a while, before sighing and sitting at the small table.

"That was not his fault."

"_Not his fault?_" I recoil, incredulous. "Which part? When he was inspired to betray us to the Aldmeri Dominion? Or when he actually tried to fucking do it?"

"None of it, Rontu, that's what I'm trying to tell you!" Kematu thunders. He sighs heavily, rubbing the grooves of the table. "Shazaa was deceived." I am shocked into silence, and can do little more than just lean back against the wash basin, my full attention on Kematu. "What I'm about to tell you, is something kept secret between Magistrate Rahaim and the Alik'r of Taneth. It concerns the root of the betrayal of Hegathe."

"Whaa- How is Taneth involved?" I'm beyond confused. "Why haven't I heard any of this before?"

"You do not know this, Rontu, because the betrayal didn't originate in Hegathe." Kematu's eyes are cold, the pain of so many years ago still so fresh. "It happened in Taneth. In the noble house, Suda."

* * *

Iman.

Iman Suda.

The name is familiar to me. As is its story.

A daughter of a noble house, Iman frittered its honor away by betraying the city's defenses. I spent my whole life, believing that both incidents- Hegathe's and Taneth's- were isolated. I mean, one managed to resist while the other succumbed, so logically one was plotted and failed before the other was plotted and succeeded.

This wasn't so.

Taneth is home to Giaz Ibn Rahaim, known to me not only as the Magistrate, but also as Shazaa's father, and my father's friend. According to Kematu, after me, there were many others more attentive to Shazaa's need for dominion. Noble women who were more than willing to submit themselves.

And one of his favorites? This Iman Suda.

But, she was much more than she appeared. While young and naive Shazaa thought she was wrapped around his finger, he was wrapped around hers. With his unwitting help, she orchestrated the downfalls of both cities. While the other noble houses of Taneth recognized her betrayal and went after her, she managed to escape to Skyrim, under a false name. She took the fall for Taneth's demise, and Shazaa. . .

"Shazaa was forced to take the fall for her designs against Hegathe," concludes Kematu. "He was left exiled, stripped of his titles, disowned by Giaz and wandering aimlessly, without a friend in all the world."

"Seems he may have found one in you," I mutter hoarsely. Somehow, over the course of this conversation, I've ended up in his chair, my mind numb. Kematu stands beyond me, tending a new pot of apple cabbage stew. "Doesn't explain why he's been tracking my movements all these years."

"He remembered you, at his trial," Kematu replies over his shoulder.

"What?" I ask, my brow furrowing. I swivel in my chair to see him. "Remembered me?"

"Just so." Kematu tastes the broth, dislikes it, and reaches for more salt. "He remembered, when you spoke for him. Seventeen, you were. All legs. Face of a baby." His face glows with the light from the hearth, eyes bright as he stares into the flames as if they hold the memory. "You had Paia with you, sweet, shy Paia, who's never hated a soul in her whole life, and she had the most wretched look on her face, watching him. Your brothers were gone, your parents buried, your house burned to the ground." He shakes his head. "Behind you, all the angry faces of Hegathe, supporting your wrath. Before you, the broken man whose own father claims he's done this to you." Kematu laughs, "But, you don't see what they see. You see the boy who followed you more closely than your shadow. Who admired your beauty long before any of the rest of us could even see it." He resumes stirring. "The Magistrate tells you the verdict is yours. They are- all of them- waiting to see him punished with death. But, you." He chuckles, shaking his head, "You chose life. Mercy."

"I didn't," I interrupt quickly. "What I said was-"

"I remember what you said," he snorts, throwing in a chopped head of cabbage. "So does Shazaa. So does every Hegathean with ears. Even then, it was nothing more than a bullshit cover-up. Kill Shazaa?" I shut my mouth, swallowing hard as Kematu chuckles. "No, you said that he ought to be exiled. _'Doomed to live out the rest of his days in sadness and shame'._" Kematu cocks his head inquisitively. "Quite like your Thieves Guild friends claim you did for Mercer Frey. Difference is, with Frey, you actually meant it."

"Alright," I whisper, almost without sound. "Alright. I wanted him to live. Is that so wrong? I wanted him to live."

"Why?" he pushes. "Why, Segen?"

"Because, in that moment, I realized that he was just like-" The tears spring into my eyes before I can stop them. "Just like me. No friends. No family. He was all alone. And, he shouldn't have had to die that way." I shake my head fiercely, "Nobody should have to die that way."

"You lived that way," he points out. "Is that fate any better?"

"Yes," I say, certain, "because, it isn't a fate. With time, you can get everything back. You won't have to be lonely anymore. If he died, he wouldn't have had a chance for even that."

The kitchen grows quiet, though leagues and ages away, in my dining room, we can hear Bjorn's booming laughter and Ralof's wild cackle.

"Where is she, then?" I ask quietly, staring into the hearth at Kematu's memory. "Where is Iman Suda?"

"She's in Whiterun," he supplies, "In hiding. By the Concordat, we Alik'r are not allowed within the city. Iman, she knows this." He wets his lips. "But, a travelling Redguard woman, whose face is unknown to Iman. . ." I remain silent. ". . . a woman who is independent of such binding laws. . ." Kematu's brown eyes slide to meet mine, "She would be the last thing Iman would expect."

I ponder for a few moments that seem more like a few millennium.

"And, I don't have to meet him?" I ask. "I won't have to see Shazaa?" He's silent. "I want your word on this."

"While I'm sure he would like it," Kematu sighs, "I will inform him of your decision. Everything that can be done to dissuade him, I will do. But, just so you know, it's because of your words that day, that he has sought you out all this time. You're the only one who was ever willing to give him a second chance. To believe him."

"Your word, Kematu."

He hesitates, but gives a tight nod, "If you meet, it will be on your own terms, Rontu O'Naharis."

"Thank you." Relief washes over me like cool water. "When do we leave?"

"Oh, soon, it will have to be soon," he says. "We don't want her slipping away again."

"I'll need to find someone to watch my house," I muse, more to myself than to him. "Especially now, that Adjin is leaving."

"Have you considered getting a steward?" suggests Kematu innocently.

"May have considered it once or twice," I say with a faint smirk. "No, Jarsha's got a man coming soon. He's written to him, informing him of an open position for a Hjaalmarch manor house. He's accepted."

"That's excellent," Kematu nods approvingly. "A Redguard then, is it?"

"I don't think so," I say, brow wrinkling in thought. "I believe his name was Angus. Agnes? No. . ." Suddenly I remember, snapping my fingers, "It was Argis," I recount thoughtfully. "Argis, the Bulwark."


	14. Chapter 14: Fear, Revisited

**Hullo, everybody ! Back to Marrick's POV. It was hard to get through this one; I've been so busy ! I just graduated high school ! XD So, that's been the hold-up, sorry ! Please review, and I hope you enjoy ! -LR**

Adjin pitches my body forward, onto the rocky shores of Solitude, as I gasp for air. My lungs are shot; just overflowing with seawater. My eyes burn from the sting of the salt. At his prodding, I crawl up the beach, hand over hand; my right fist still grasping Aventus' Contract tight and my left clutching the frayed end of that fucking rope.

Just don't puke, I keep telling myself, Don't puke.

I'm soaked to the skin, on that beach, and it takes everything in me to get to where the sand is softer, less gravelly. Only then, do I lie on my back, eyes closed, shivering.

I need to get back out there, I keep telling myself. I need to get back.

That in mind, I roll over from my back to my stomach, and rotate my body until I'm staring the sea in the face.

"Marrick, stop," comes Adjin's quiet order, breaking my trance. "We're done for the day." I ignore him, and just focus on finding my feet, breathing right, and not vomiting. "You've been at this for long enough," he says. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

I stand upright, wavering some, but I've made it all the way up.

I'm so fucking tired. My body wants to lay down somewhere, anywhere, but my mind knows that I have to continue in order to become strong again.

One of my strongest points when I was in my prime, was the absolute control I had over my flesh. When it was injured, I could still push it on to escape. When it was tired it still ran just as fast. If I were to give my body then benefit of the doubt now, it would be a step backward.

A step that I can't afford to take.

"Let's keep going," I tell him. "Adjin let's keep going."

"No, Marrick," he says firmly. "You'll kill yourself, if we do." I shut my eyes again. Don't you fucking puke. "Your body can't take much more of this," he points out. "What do expect to accomplish?"

"Control," I reply shortly. As if he doesn't already know. "I expect to take control."

"Marrick. . ." He has this tone that informs me that he's going to say something I don't want to hear. "Control will come with time. Practice. You let your flesh rule for too long. It will not bow to you in a day."

I shake my head, dropping to my knees, and I vomit into the sand.

Well, that was a lost cause.

It's mostly dry-heave; I haven't eaten much. When I'm done, I roll over onto my back, my skin twitching as I start to shiver again..

"I need to do this," I rasp. "Adjin, please. I have to k- keep doing th-this."

He sighs.

For about a week, we have been in Hell.

Always the sentimental fellow, Adjin started me off with something all-too-familiar: a little task he calls "Catching Cats". This didn't suit well with me. It was a task he had me doing when I was seventeen; I'm a twenty-nine year old man. Ignoring his orders, I decided to try another task, "Beat the Current", something that I had mastered in my prime, at twenty-three.

In essence, he cuts the bottom out of a barrel, ditches its top, ties it around your waist and carries it behind you as you wade out into the sea. Once you're up to your chest, he lets go. You swim against the current as best you can, with the barrel holding you back. You swim against the current as best as you can, for as long as you can.

In my prime, I did this with three barrels for one hour and twenty-two minutes. Today, I barely made it to twenty-six minutes before the waves became much too much, and I began to drown. At the start, I could hear Adjin calling, telling me to stop and cut the barrel loose. I didn't listen until I went under, and by then, it was too late. I was drowning.

So, he came in after me.

As usual, he came in after me.

With my eyes shut, I can better hear Adjin's movements above me; some cloth or material is rustling. I'm opening my mouth to beg him again, and close it when I feel something warm and soft cover me.

I squint my eyes open to find his heavy, pearl-grey cloak over my bare torso; the shivering practically evaporates. I angle my head to see him sitting on this rock just above me, knees drawn up and his arms draped over them, his ringed hands clasped in thought. No hood today; his hair and beard billow in the wind, brown eyes just as calm as the sea is stormy.

We sit there for a while, and I realize, he's letting me rest. So, I try to, but I can't. I'm just lying here, watching the sky turn from night colors to day colors while the strength returns to my limbs. The sun isn't up yet. It's the black of true morning, the darkness between dusk and dawn. No stars, but both moons.

"The scars," he says quietly, "the ones on your back. Whose lash are they from?"

I blink unsteadily, trying to focus myself on his sudden words.

"Galmar Stone-Fist."

Adjin's silent for a while.

"I figured as much," he muses, more to himself than to me. "The price for having her desert Ulfric's army. And, you had to pay it."

I shut my eyes, "That, I did."

"Why?" he asks. "Did you know then? Did you love her then?"

"Long before," I tell the stars, "long before."

Adjin thinks on this for a while, as I focus on the sky, thinking about what he's maybe thinking about. Maybe about how much time and effort truly have to be put in, for me to even start to approach what I was. Back when every action was muscle memory, and every thought pure instinct. Back when my experience damn near radiated off me. Maybe he's considering the difference between who I was and who I am.

But, whatever he's thinking about, he doesn't think about it for long.

"Marrick."

"Hmm?"

"Rushing into this will kill you," he says. "But, you already knew this." I wipe my mouth. "Why did you continue?" I can't answer. "I would guess either Rontu or Alduin. But, neither of these is your true impetus, no. Love and destiny. Neither of these are what motivates you."

"What does?" I venture. "Enlighten me, please."

"_Fear._"

As cold as I already am, the entire world seems to freeze over.

In my mind, I return that night in Whiterun. The dream I had, of me, and Rontu and-

"I not- I dun- I en't afr- I wou-" I am literally trembling. "I am not afraid!"

"You can do many things, Marrick," Adjin thunders, "but, never forget that lying to me is not one of them. Now, tell me, boy, what threatens you?!"

"_Miraak!_" I manage to choke out, "His name is- is Miraak." Adjin grows ominously silent. I take it as a sign to continue. "He's Dragonborn, too, of ages past. And, he has plans to return to this world, commanding legions. _Legions_," I echo, bitterly, "I can barely command my own fucking body!" Still nothing from Adjin. "He's haunted me, most every night since we first came to Riften, five years ago."

"_Five years-_"

"Aye, this is why I left," I confirm. "He knows about Rontu; he knows everything about fucking everything. And, I know nothing. If I rise up to challenge him- me, a drunken shadow of the man I used to be- then, I'm sentencing her to something worse than death." I shake my head, tears pooling in my eyes as I stare up into the sky. "Maybe, I already have."

Adjin still hasn't spoken, and my true worst fears begin to settle in the bottom of my stomach: the fear that I have made a terrible mess, and that he can't show me how to clean it up.

When he does finally speak, it's not what I so desperately need to hear from him.

"Let's head back," he says simply.

I swivel my head to look up at him.

"Adjin?"

"We know your personal best now. Later, we can work your time back up to what it was." He stands up, and steps off the giant rock, landing lightly on his feet.

I scramble to my knees, "Adjin?"

"Your shirt's too wet to put back on; keep my cloak for now."

"_ADJIN!_" I holler. He stops, his back to me as he faces the city. "Say something. Anything. Please." He sighs. And, as the breath leaves his body, the faith I had in him leaves mine. "So," I whisper seethingly. "You're nothing but a man, after all."

Adjin turns around slow, his eyes betraying the cool mask of his face with their burning anger.

He crosses back to me purposefully, and snatches me by my throat, slamming me against the boulder as he yokes me up. My mouth goes dry and my chest is heaving, the heart inside it beating like it's housing a stampede.

"Do you feel that, boy?" he seethes. "Your _fear_?" He tightens his grip on me, and I lean my head as far away from him as I can, breathing hard. "I can smell it. I can see it in your eyes; you fear me." He gives me a rough shake. "Say it."

"I fear you," I sputter.

"Louder."

"_I fear you_!"

He tightens his grip again, pulling me closer to him, searching my soul through my eyes.

"Let this be a lesson to you, boy: your every fear is a choice. Do you hear me?" I nod, my brows pulling in. "Anyone you fear, it is a choice. With Alduin, it is a choice. With Miraak it is a choice. With me, it is a choice; _do you hear me_?" I nod again, and suddenly, his stern face crumples; he looks anguished. "You're like a son to me, Marrick."

"Adjin-"

"Like a son," he repeats, and his hands aren't choking me now, they're framing my face. "I've known you since you were seventeen years old, and I've taught you many things. But, let the most important of them be, that your every fear is a choice."

"Don't you- I thought-" I mumble dumbly, "Don't you want me to fear you?"

He shakes his head, letting me go, "You're not a boy, anymore, and I would've told you this earlier, if your fear of me didn't make training you so simple. All a man is, Marrick, is what he's earned. Have Alduin or Miraak earned your fear?"

"No."

"Louder," he bellows.

"No!"

His face crumples again, "I haven't either, Marrick. I haven't. Because, you're right: I'm nothing but a man, after all." I start to counter this, but he cuts me off. "I make mistakes, Marrick, I get sick, and one day, I will die. All men are mortals, Marrick; in famine, Jarls starve in their palaces, just as the lowborn in their shacks. In this way, all men are equal. _We_," he stresses, "are equal." I'm feeling the ridiculous urge to cry. But, I refuse to let him see me that way. "You have a choice in fear, Marrick. Never forget that."

This said, he turns away from me, heading back towards Solitude.

With little else to do, or think, or say, I follow.

I take my sweet time, plodding through the gray banks, as the sea rages stormily beyond me.

If she were here, she'd have called it beautiful; she'd have called it a painting. I'm suddenly remembering a late afternoon in Ivarstead, when we first arrived to the small city. She said, "_Everything has beauty, when you look at it the right way_".

She was fucking wrong.

My current situation is quite the ugly issue.

The man I saw as my father just admitted to me he was mortal, something I wouldn't have believed unless I'd heard it from Adjin himself. It was like a high priest learning that Akatosh and all of those other puppeteers in Sovngarde are just something Ysgramor smoked into existence with a pound of kush.

On top of that, the future of Mundos rested in the hands of a just-turned-sober scrub who's having an early mid-life crisis- and he just so happens to be me.

And, on top of that, saving the world has become a race between myself and not only Alduin, but also Miraak. And, both of those fuckers has a head start.

I turn back to face the rock, and she's sitting there, staring thoughtfully at the ocean, the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Where is it, then, Princess," I ask hoarsely. "Where's the beauty in all of this?"

Her white stare flicks from the sea to me, and she holds my gaze, her expression serious. She breaks into a teasing smile, and shrugs; she doesn't fucking know.

It starts to rain, and I don't really mind except that I'm wearing Adjin's cloak.

If there's anything worse than a mentor who's renounced his authority, it's a mentor who's renounced his authority, and also has a ruined cloak.

So, I start up the beach, over the gray dunes and towards Solitude.

"A second chance," she calls, over her shoulder. I stop in my tracks, but I don't turn around. I'm getting real tired of her shit. "There's always beauty, in redemption."

I can't help myself, and I turn to look at Rontu, but she's gone. Again.

"Redemption, huh?"

I sigh, and continue walking until I reach the Winking Skeever. I'm sure I get some stares, coming into the place wearing nothing but trousers and a fine, pearl-grey cloak, boots in my hands. Then again, I've done stranger things in this tavern.

Sighing to myself again, I take to the stairs two at a time, and push open the door to our room.

"Adjin, I-" My words desert me, as my brain makes the connection with my eyes about what they're seeing: All of my things. Packed. "Wha-"

"You're leaving, Marrick," comes Adjin's voice. I whip my head around to see him lounging in the window, watching the downpour as he smokes. "The training I want you to do is too simple; the training you want to run is too hard. Well, I've found a happy medium."

I step further into room, cautiously, "How happy?"

"You will be challenged, no doubt," he says, taking another drag. "My aim is to put you in a position where it is your choice how much training you think you will need, and how much time."

"The suspense is killing me."

Adjin cracks a smile, "You're telling me?" He taps out his pipe on the windowsill. "How many Shouts do you know, Marrick?"

I count off on my finger, "Seven."

"Which are they?"

"Mnnn. . ." I shut my eyes, thinking. "Clear Skies, Fire Breath. . .uh. . .Throw Voice, Become Ethereal, Whirlwind Sprint. . .Unrelenting Force, obviously, and. . . Frost Breath." He nods approvingly. "You still haven't said what your 'happy medium is'."

"Ah," he smiles, sardonically, "Must've slipped my mind." His eyes, slightly pinkened from the sourleaf, meet mine. "You're going to go," he says, voice deadpan, "and you're going to steal one item from one noble house in every capital city in Skyrim."

"I'm sorry, what?" I laugh once, mirthlessly, "Adjin, you're just high right now, I can't-"

"Why?" His head cocks. "Because you are afraid?" My mouth shuts up tight, and he relents a little. "When you are finished, I will be certain that you are ready to continue this quest. You'll find me in Ivarstead, waiting for you." I'm speechless. "Until then," Adjin says, rising from the window ledge, "this is farewell." He comes to a stop before me.

The reality of the situation dawns on me, and I suddenly know what to say.

"Adjin, you said- in your latest lesson, Adjin, you said that fear is a choice. And, you pointed out the way I fear you," I shake my head, "Adjin, I don't fear you; I fear _for_ you. My fear is losing you. Whether it's because I've been an asshole, and I've disappointed you, or if it's that I've gotten myself into deep shit, and something happens to you, because you go to bail me out." His face's calm is broken; his brows and knitted tight, his jaw working. "You see me as a son, and I see you as a father. You haven't done anything to make me fear you; you've taught me to obey you. And, that's a big difference. Just like Miraak and- and Alduin, you never earned my fear." I stretch out my hand to him, "You've earned my respect, my faith and my trust, things I could ever show to any other man alive. So, thank you, Adjin. And, farewell."

Adjin takes one look at my hand, and knocks it out of the way, as he closes the space between us, and embraces me.

"Until Ivarstead," he says. "Until then, Segen."

**(A/N) Please review ! I love hearing your feedback and thoughts! -LR**


	15. Chapter 15: Guardian

**Hullo, everybody! So, so, so, so, SO sorry for the wait! Things have been so crazy lately, and my laptop had been out of commission. I'm back to writing now, so come on back to reading! Please review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR**

The sun is peaking over Solitude, as my son, his wolf and I walk through the High Gate Woods, heading into Morthal. As ever, it is snowing, our footprints quickly covered as we navigate the trees. It's early in the year still, and so, it's still quite cold. I'm dressed in a fine cream-colored, woolen dress, a warm, green over coat, embroidered with gold, and a tanned sabre car pelt pinned over my right shoulder. Segen wears brown woolens, tucked into his tall, black boots, along with a rust-red longshirt and brown vest and belt, black cloak hanging from his shoulders. Adjin's locket rests over his collarbone, worn and golden and his; he thumbs it absently.

"Will Uncle Adjin be back anytime soon?"

I glance at him, to see a furrow in his dark brows, as snow falls lazily, dotting his jet-black mohawk and turning it into a night sky.

"I don't actually know," I sigh, watching Na'el as she trots ahead of us. "Your uncle is the captain of his own ship, Segen. Sometimes, I feel I'm just a passenger on it." He says nothing in response, and draws his cloak tighter about him. "But, even if he returns, you do realize he won't be tutoring you." Still no response. "_Segen._"

He sighs, shaking his head, "I don't understand that. Mana, I don't want to be taught by a stranger."

"Nor do I want you to be taught by one," I smile. "But, I have a few things to see to, in Whiterun. And, beyond that, Adjin has matters of his own to attend to. The stranger will have to do."

"_Mana_!" he groans. "The sheer irresponsibility-" I start laughing. Hard. "It's not funny!"

"Your uncle Jarsha trusts him. So, I trust him." I chuckle even more at his expression. "It's that simple, dear one."

"Mm." His gaze slides away from me, to Na'el, the mismatched eyes full of question. "What's his name again? The steward?"

I cringe. Hate that word.

"Argis," I tell him, "Argis, the Bulwark."

"_Argis the Bulwark?_" He snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah. Alright. Why not?"

When did my son become his father?

"I'll have you know, he's quite an able tutor. And, his combat credentials are pretty solid." My son crosses his arms, his jaw working. "You'll be in good hands, Segen. That's all I want."

He whirls back around, eyes beseeching.

"And, who's good hands will you be in, Mana? Nobody I know!"

"Segen-"

"No!" he snaps, "No! I don't understand why I can't go with you!"

"Neither of us is ready for you to see what I-"

"Mana!" he says, helplessly, "We said no lies!"

The breath leaves my body. How do I keep finding myself in these situations? And, what can I really say to my child? That my work as a mercenary leaves me unable to take care of him? That his dearly beloved Uncle Adjin is probably with his very own father? That I'm leaving him to kidnap the woman who brought on the demise of our family?

Have I told him absolutely nothing?

_You're doing the right thing,_ I tell myself, _You're doing the right thing._ Explaining Iman Suda would mean explaining Shazaa and my parents' deaths and so many other things. _Your five-year-old doesn't need to carry your burdens._

_No lies,_ he says, just as his father before him.

Does he not know how I've thrived on them?

My gaze collides with his.

"No lies," I mutter, and thread my fingers through his hair, drawing him to me. "I'm sorry, Segen. I have things to do in Whiterun- important, grown-up things that I can't tell you about right now. I'm so sorry, but it has to be-"

"When I'm older?" he mumbles into my hip. I give a short laugh, nodding. "If I can't protect you, Mana, who will?"

"Segen," I say, and tilt his face up by his chin. "You trust your mother?" He hesitates, studying me, before nodding. "Do you trust that I know my work?" He nods again. "Now, do you trust that I will come back to you? That I would never, never abandon you?"

"Yes."

"Then, neither of us has anything to worry about." I kiss his forehead soundly, and ruffle his hair. "Now, call Na'el. We're close to town."

"To me, Na'el!" he proclaims. "Na'el, to me!"

The black wolf comes darting through the trees to his side, and he collars her, the way she hates. A necessary precaution, living in a town of paranoid citizens. That done, he turns to view the town, catching sight of Joric, Idgrod's fourteen-year-old younger brother, leaning against a post outside of the Moorside Inn. He gives us a knowing smile and a small wave. Segens throws me his most honest eyes and open face; I smile wide.

"You can go along with Joric," I laugh. "I'm just picking up some supplies. Your uncles cleaned us out."

He glances over at Joric, and then, back at me.

"You're sure?" asks my little guardian. "You don't need me?"

I tap my chin, surveying the sky, "Now that you mention it. . ."

"Ididn'tsayanythingI'llseeyoulaterManabye!"

He runs off like some. . ._running thing,_ and my grin grows wide. I follow his retreating form with my eyes, laughing to myself as he joins Joric and Agnis at the inn.

"How easily he deserts you, Rontu."

I turn around, my grin still in full effect, to see Idgrod, returning it.

"Too true," I snort. "For as much as he claims to love his mother." Idgrod the Younger, now twenty-seven years herself, laughs hard at this and I throw an arm around her shoulder. She's as girlishly pretty as ever, her dark brown hair pulled back from her face, dark eyes bright and age-old. "Where are you headed today?"

She shrugs slightly, "I'm following you."

"Thaumaturgist's Hut it is, then," I smirk. Her brows raise in question. "The party left my stores a little wanting. We've hardly got anything left, after it _and _last winter."

"The snows were pretty brutal . . ." she says grimly.

"Who're you telling? Segen and I had to trudge through that shit just to get here." I shake my head. "I need a new shovel; don't let me forget."

"How are you holding up?" she asks, after her laughter winds down. "I know having everyone part ways after your birthday must have been difficult."

"Yes, it was," I sigh, as we begin walking towards the trading post. "Jarsha's returned to the college. Bjorn's taken his family back, and Adjin's run off to gods know where."

"You know, too, I think." She says it so quietly that I would never have heard it, if I weren't listening for it. Still, I have no response for her. "Rontu, you never talk about him. It's as if . . . as if he doesn't even exist!" At my silence, Idgrod sighs. "Alright. I will leave the matter, for now. But, this is something we have to speak abou-" At her abrupt trail-off my head snaps up to her face. She's squinting at a point beyond me, at the guardhouse, and I turn to see. . . Jonna. . . Thonnir . . . Jorgen . . . Benor-

"What's happened?"

Her eyes glaze over, and she grabs my arm in a vice grip.

"It's Marrick."

My blood freezes over.

"How do you kn-"

In spite of her being half my size, she pulls on the arm in her grasp, and hauls me over to our neighbors, her eyes wild.

"- a thief, I tell you!" whispers the trembling courier. He's sitting on the guardhouse steps, as we crowd further around him, Idrgrod pushing me closer and closer.

"Move back!" someone orders, and I can see over my shoulder that it's Alsfur, his visage grim and authoritative. "Move _back!_" he says again, more forcefully, as he pushes forward, "Give the man some room!" When he reaches the front of the crowd, he surveys the traveler, and takes a knee before him. "Where are you coming from, son?"

"From. . . from. . ." the courier pauses, catching his breath. "From Solitude."

"Solitude, eh?" Alsfur rubs his beard. "And, what is your purpose for-"

"And, then. . ." he pants, "Markarth."

Alsfur's brow furrows, "I'm sorry, I don't. . . I don't follow."

"After that. . . haa. . . haa. . .Falkreath." Alsfur is silent now, his gaze urging the boy on. "'E's . . . e's makin' his way down the coast. Some thief, or the like, stealing from the noble 'ouses. Right out from under their noses." He shook his head, taking a few deep breaths. "'E stole a copper and moonstone circlet from Thane . . ._Bryling_ of Solitude, and enchanted steel dagger from Nepos the Nose, in Markarth, and a steel sword from Jarl Siddgeir's family, in Falkreath."

"The same thief?"

"The Jarls think so."

"What of their coin?"

"Absolutely untouched. Just one item, from one noble house."

"Hmm." Alsfur sighs heavily. "We'll need to warn the other families of the other capital cities."

"Riders were sent out the day before yesterday, sir." The courier's tongue flicks out over his lips. "But, that en't why Elisif sent me, originally."

"Why, then?" Alsufr asks, but the courier's gaze is flitting all over, resting on a tankard of ale in one of the guard's grasp.

"Could I-"

Following his gaze, Alsufr flaps his hand hurriedly at the guard, "Give it to him, Wyl." The courier wets his lips, and brings the ale to them, guzzling it greedily. "Now," urges Alsfur, "why are you come?"

"They. . ." the man does a steadying breath, eyes lowered to his knees. "They say, that he's back."

"_Who?_" Alsfur hisses, "Who's back?"

The courier's gaze clashes with his.

"_The Dragonborn._"

The effect of his words is immediate.

Men and women all around us explode uproariously to one another or to themselves, as Alsfur's mouth drops wide open, and as Idgrod turns to me.

If she's saying anything, I can't tell. It's like all sound has left the world. A second has become an age, and for that age, everything is still.

_He's back. Marrick's back. He's back. Marrick's-_

"They seen him on the East Road, between Solitude and Markarth. He came down following the Karth river, and then, Druadach Mountains. That's where he came into contact with a frost dragon, and a couple of travellers realized who he was."

Alsfur nodded, "And can you tell us. . ."

He continues speaking, but this is all I can stand to hear. Right now, my priority is finding Segen.

If he started in Solitude, and is working his way from the east coast inward, then for all I know, he's looking for me. It may not be true, but I cannot risk it. What's more, is that there is no doubt in my mind that Marrick and the capital city thief are one and the same. I have no idea what he's thinking; and if he is looking, I cannot let him find.

My heart is throbbing madly in my chest, and I ignore Idgrod, who's calling my name. Instead, I force myself to keep walking, as my eyes focus on the center of my chest. The pathetically frayed end of the gold cord splays out, like reaching fingers, and I try to ignore that, too, as my thoughts rush to organize themselves.

Maybe he ought to be in Segen's life, maybe I am overreacting. But, that's not a chance I'm going to take.

I won't let him cast my son aside, the way that he cast me.

Segen was outside of Falion's with Joric and Agni, the fifteen-year-old girl under the wizard's roof and wing, which made it simple to take him by the hand.

"_Taurel mo kem baht,_" I whisper, as he tenses under my grasp. I grin warmly at Joric and Agni. "I'm so sorry, but we have to go home now. Can he come to play another time?"

"Aye, it's no trouble, milady," Joric smiles back, touching my son's shoulder fondly. "See you around, Segen."

"Goodbye, Joric," Segen says, cheeks dimpling, "Goodbye, Agnis."

We turn away, heading up into the woods and the marsh, and it's only when we reach our stables that Segen turns to me.

"What's wrong?" he asks urgently. I don't answer, rushing quickly out of the woods, eyes shifting through the trees. "Mana, what's wrong?" I still don't - can't respond; he tugs on my sleeve. "Mana!" he pleads, "Talk to me!"

This is what brings me back.

My eyes fall to my son's face. I don't know what to expect from it. Fear? Confusion? Hysteria? No, no, and no. My child is staring back at me, and his is the concerned expression of an absolute adult. There is no room for childish antics in him; his next move is solely centered on mine, fully prepared to be my rock.

I cradle that face in my hands.

"I'm sorry, baby," I croak out hoarsely, "I'm so sorry. Everything is fine; I just . . ." How do you lie to the person who knows you best? "Nothing's wrong, I just. . ."

"You didn't go to Thauma's," he says quietly. "You didn't get any supplies."

My brows knit, and I breathe a harsh sigh. One that contains all my fears about the Dragonborn seeking me out. This is a coincidence, and I would be a fool to just let it interrupt our lives.

"You're right," I admit, my smile weary. I ruffle Segen's hair. "If we take the wagon and leave now, we could make it to Thaumaturgist's Hut before it closes."

I reach for his hand, and he clutches mine tight, as we continue on towards the wagon.

_I'm wrong. I'm overreacting. Marrick isn't coming, you fool. Marrick isn't-_

"Mana," Segen hisses under his breath. "Mana, there's a man at the house."

My head snaps up, my mind clears, my arm pushes my child behind me, my hand rests on Nhale's hilt, my vision sharpens.

The man is tall and broad and cold. I can see his muscles trembling, even under his bear pelt and scaled armour. He's been trained to ignore the temperature though, and does so seamlessly. He carries a quiver of steel arrows on his back, while his left hip holds a steel mace. A banded iron shield rests beside the front door. These weapons get me wondering at his training. Jorrvaskr? The Shatter-Shields of Windhelm? Clans Grey-Mane or Battleborn, in Whiterun?

Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.

If he is a threat to us, then I am going to kill him.

I stalk forwards towards him and my home, cautiously, eyes narrowed and never leaving him. He seems to sigh, hulking shoulders rising and falling, and raises a fist to knock on my door.

"Stop," I call, and he pauses, tilting his head in our direction. "Hands over your head. Now, turn around, slowly," I order. "_Slower._" The stranger complies. When he's facing us, I give him a thorough study.

He stands six feet, easily, with long, golden-blonde hair, braided back and fastened with red ties, to match a trimmed blonde beard. Red warpaint swirls into a leaf on the right cheek of a chiseled face, and a black patch covers his left eye. The one good eye has enough intensity on its own; it's an amber color, close to that of his hair, bright with cunning and . . .amusement.

"I yield," he calls, smilingly. "Lady O'Naharis, I yield."

This only serves to incense me further.

"Declare yourself, sir."

"I am called Argis, the Bulwark," he says. "I'm expected."

Tentatively, I lower my blade and sigh, before glancing back at Segen. To my greatest surprise, he's lowering a loaded crossbow, his hands steady as his gaze lingers darkly on our guest. I cannot help my smile.

"Well, come in then, by all means," I laugh, sheathing Nhale. "Getting shot by your pupil would be a bad way to start, no?"

* * *

"So," I begin, setting an ale on the table and sitting down. "You're Argis, the Bulwark."

I want it to be platonic, but it sounds doubtful. And, by the smirk on his face, I know the man warming himself by the fire hears that doubt as well.

"That is my name, aye."

"How is it that you know my brother?"

"Jarsha?" He shrugs lightly, "He's a Thane, of Markarth." Now, that, I never knew. Argis shrugs lightly, "Or, at least, he _was_ a Thane of Markarth. He hasn't been back in a long while. I was housecarl at his old place, Vlindrel Hall. And, I've been watching after it ever since he went ghost."

"What became of the house?"

"He sold it." Argis shrugs again. "Wasn't like he'd ever return to it. Bastard lives in Winterhold, after all. That's why he sent for me to come here; I'd of gotten fat and lazy, if left to my own devices."

"I doubt that," I mutter with a humorless laugh.

His eye levels on me, "You doubt much."

I have no response to that. There's a quality of wiseness about this man, that. . . that makes me both nervous and relaxed at the same time. I want to trust him, in spite of my nature to trust no one. I just can't quite figure out why.

"About this job," I say, clearing my throat. "I do mercenary work, and so I'm not home often. I need you to manage my affairs and my land and my son in my absence. That is all."

Argis studies me for a moment, the flames crackling before him, until he rises from the fire pit, and takes the seat across from me at the table.

"Please, continue."

"Windstad's become something of a beacon, for all sorts of enemies. Each day, I require a ranging, to patrol the grounds and ensure their safety."

"Consider it done, milady."

"Also, supply shipments arrive in town, to the merchant, every month to keep stores fresh. I would have gotten them today, but. . ." My gaze meets Segen's on the second floor, as he strokes Na'el. ". . .but, something came up."

"I will retrieve it tomorrow, as soon as the shop opens," he assures me. "Is there anything more, milady?"

I nod absently, breaking eye-contact with my child.

"Lastly, and most importantly, is my son. Segen." Argis nods in return. "I want Segen to have a good tutor, who can ensure he learns all that he needs to when I'm away."

"Tutor, what subjects?"

"All of them," I say, almost challengingly. "Magicka, Combat, Stealth, Music, Geography, History and the Common Tongue." He scribbles this down onto a piece of parchment, blotting the excess ink with his thumb. "Above all else, is his safety," I add in a harsher tone. Argis immediately looks up from his paper. "This child is my life, sir. And, if it meant his safety, I would murder the world." A silent understanding grows between us, as we hold each other's gaze: mine, willing him to understand, and his, ensuring me that he does. "Oh, and of course, you will be paid for your work-"

"Room and board is fine enough payment for me, milady," he says, waving me off. "Not like I've got a house, anymore. Your brother's fault, milady," he grins.

I smile back, rising from my chair.

"Are you hungry?," I call over my shoulder, heading into the kitchen. "I'm sorry I'm such a poor host, it's just been a long day." I quickly find the leftover beef stew and pour it into the pot hanging over the hearth. "You can call me Rontu, by the way, I'm not really big on titles." I pause in stirring the pot and cock my head. "Do you mind beef stew?"

"Whatever you've got is fine," he replies from the dining room. "Anything, to ward off this cold."

The stew heats quickly enough, and I grab some mitts and carry it in to the table in the other room, which is set also with garlic bread, Eidar cheese wedges, grilled leeks, baked potatoes, a bowl of crisp, red apples a few bottles of ale and a jug of milk and tankard for Segen, who promptly comes trotting down the stairs for supper.

"So," grins Argis. "This is the little lord." He rubs his short-cropped beard. "Aye, aye, I think it's quite an improvement."

"What is?" Segen asks, confused.

"The absence of your crossbow."

That wins him a smile.

"You wash up?" I question. "We've been outside all day."

"Yes, I'm all clean," he reports, showing me his hands.

"Alright, then, let's sit." I say a quick prayer over the food, and we tuck in. The conversation flows easily between us, and Segen is included in it naturally, rather than forced, which is more than I could have hoped for. Turns out, Argis trained at Jorrvaskr, so I know he's a formidable opponent. What's more, is that he's mastered many other skills as well, so I know that he's well-rounded as well. When we finish eating, our new steward clears the plates, as we continue talking. "Do you cook, Argis?" I finally think to ask. "That's something I didn't mention earlier. . ."

"Thought it was a given," he shrugs, smiling at Segen. "I can cook well enough to put the great Gourmet to shame. But, you want to know my true talent?" he asks, conspiratorially. Segen nods, leaning in. "Baking. My crostatas are a little slice of Sovngarde."

"Good to know," I laugh, shaking my head. "I'm off holding my own in Whiterun, while you two stuff yourselves full of sweets."

"May I ask, what you'll be doing in Whiterun?" Argis asks. He glances at Segen, "Or, is it better to ask at another-"

"Yes, we'll speak later," I reply, with a smile as Segen groans.

"It's not like I don't know what you do, Mana," he argues. "What could be so different this time?"

"Yes, definitely later," I laugh. "Long after this one's fast asleep. Speaking of which. . ."

"Ugghhh!"

"Come on, now. You've had a long day."

"Alright, alright." He raises from the table, and trots around it to kiss me goodnight. "'Night, Mana. 'Night Argis."

"Goodnight, Segen."

"'Night, little lor- oh, wait!" Segen stops his trek up the stairs. "Before you turn in, I just want you to know that we start your training tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, I know already, all the basic subjects."

"Well, actually, there's one more." My brow furrows, as Argis turns to me, his eye dancing. "There's a reason why Jarsha chose me, specifically. Could've been anyone for the job, but I'm the best fit."

"How's that?"

"Because, simply put, I match best to Segen's abilities."

"Abilities. . ?"

My gaze meets my son's, and we both look on as Argis the Bulwark peels back his black patch to reveal-

"A Ghost Eye," breathes Segen, and Argis smiles. "You- You're like me!"

Instantly, all my qualms about this man vanish, and I send a silent thanks to Jarsha, wherever he is. I have the peace of mind that I so desperately needed before I could head to Whiterun.

He's given me the perfect guardian for my guardian.

**(A/N) Once again, I'm sorry for going AWOL, but I'm back, for good. Please review, and I hope you enjoyed! -LR**


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